PS 

Ai45t 










f-iiii^-^^ 





Si^ jS^^ 4 



rjy. 



Also by Mr. Taber: 



Book of "The Dalai Lama," comic opera, in 
two acts. (A collaboration with W. N. S. 
Ivins, the composer.) 

cp 

"Northern Lights & Shadows," (Greening & 
Co., London, Eng. Price, 5s.) 

cp 

And 

"Chained Lig,htnin^" 

Key and Sounder in Mexico 

THE vivid plot of "Chained Lightning" is 
replete with stirring incidents that are 
illuminated by accurate sidelights on Mexico 
and its peculiar people. One cannot read it 
without understanding better the reason for 
that unhappy country's present state of 
anarchy. It is an interesting and instruc- 
tive book for boys and girls of all ages from 
nine to ninety, and will be enjoyed especially 
by railroaders who kno^w, and have grown to 
love, the "rails and wires." 

"Chained Lightning" has to do with the 
thrilling adventures of two young Ameri- 
cans, railway telegraphers, who seek their 
fortunes in Mexico, and who find there — but 
read the story! A part of it has appeared 
as a serial in "St. Nicholas," but the book 
gives the complete narrative, and is elab- 
orately illustrated by some of the best artists 
from photographs taken by the author and 
his friend M. Ravelle. 

Published by THE MACMILLAN CO.. 
New York. Price, $1.25. 

Order direct from the publishers, or from 

St. Paul Book & Stationery Co. 

St. Paul, Minn. 




nn[F 



^nn 



ooocx)oSVoo oo-^oooooo 

nn Pi ^ ^ T l nn 



Stray Gold 

A Rambler's Clean-up 

By "R%.T.;^Wv 




1^ 

pRE 



1^ 

o 








^or-etched \sy hi::. 




St. Paul Book & Stationery Co 
St. Paul, Minn. 



□ n[F 



^nn 



o 



ragEi 



<^ 



lihsej 



o 



000000(^00 oo-TSoooooo 

nn P- ^ ^ I nn 







Copyright 1915 
By Ralph Graham Taber 

op 

A. C. McClur^ & Co., Chicago 
Jobbers 



OCT -I 1915 




V>^ 



'C1.A411754 



To tKe Assay ers: 



The Conglomerate 

These verses were ventured at various times, 

In various places and various climes; 

In the tropical South, where the blood runs hot, 

Where red passions riot and God is forgot; 

In the chill Arctic Circle, whose ice and cold 

Imperil the stoical seeker for gold; 

In the marvelous West, where the ranges call 

To the soul of the rambler to cross them all; 

In the Orient old, with its mystic lore; 

On the oceans that battle from shore to shore; 

In populous cities ; on desert and plain. 

They are touch-stones, testing his fanciful brain. 

Cradled by 

R. G. T. 

cp 



The Crucible 

These stray nuggets 

From life's luring trails 

Placered by the cheerful Rambler 

Consigned to Lovers of Lyrical Lore 

With a modest request 

To sample the contents 

And make no claim for damage 

Should an acid test 

Disprove the label. 



cp 



To My Critics: 



Knock if you must; boost if you can — 
Either will make me a happier man. 
Though you may class them as doggerel 

rhymes, 
Mention them anyhow— these are hard times— 
Which 'astray Gold" may alleviate, 
If you will help it circulate! 



L' Envoi. 

cp 

A debt of gratitude I'd pay 

To Pegasus, who bears 
The weariness of life away, 

With all its worldly cares; 
"Who takes us on his tireless wings 

Beyond the distant skies 
To drink from the eternal springs 

Of Fancy's paradise. 
My debt to him is greater far 

Than I could ever pay, 
Though diamond were every star 

And mine the Milky Way! 

"R. G. T. 



EartK's RicKest Ore. 

cp 

Life is worth living here below, 
Though the roads be rough and hilly, 
If we have a lifelong friend or so 
Who will back us, willy-nilly. 
Would that it might be mine to share 
With all my readers such friendship rare 
As these two friends to the Rambler bear- 
So here's to ''Ollie & Billy." 

"R. G. T." 



Gran Merci to the 
First Assay ers: 

The Rambler's grateful acknowledgments 
to the Editors of Alnslee's, Criterion, Life, 
Independent, Mmisey's, Saint Nicholas, 
Truth, Town Topics, Vogue, and Youth's 
Companion, for their kindness in permitting 
him to include in this collection such of 
these gold-bearing specimens as were tested 
by them some years ago in the touch-stone 
pages of their publications. 



cJd 



stray Gold 13 

The Better Song 17 

The Loon 22 

The Driver's Story 23 

The Missing- Man 30 

In The Confessional 32 

From The Depths 35 

The Blind 37 

Roncevaux ,. . 39 

At Avalon 41 

British Columbia 42 

Unrest 42 

Gadzooks 43 

The Cream of the Milking 45 

The Oldest Inhabitant 47 

The Dark 48 

To Elbert Hubbard 49 

Love's First Touch 50 

A Question 51 

The Song of the Worlds 53 

Toujours 54 

The Birth of Love 55 

Choose 56 

The Brightest Star 57 

An Autograph 57 

The Waters of Fate 58 

Hello Central 59 

La Demi-Vierge 61 

The Bachelor 61 

A Prodigal 63 

The Inner Light 64 

The Rag-Picker 64 

The Real Hero 65 

My Prayer 65 

The First Christmas 66 

The Scoffer 68 

A Flower 69 

Passim 70 



CONCENTRATES 

Continued 



The Song- of Azrael 71 

Life 72 

The Birth of Iris 73 

Much in Little 73 

My Triad 74 

Do You Believe in Fairies 76 

Weavers All 79 

Nature's Paean 8 

Fidus Achates S2 

Shall We Gather at the River 83 

Seeing- Red 85 

The Old Prospector 86 

The Old Prospector's Reply 87 

Why the B. P. O. E 89 

Thou and I 9i 

Pards 93 

The Double Inquest 9 7 

Be Warned 100 

Jack 101 

Playing tlie Game 104 

Death Valley 105 

Bakins 106 

A Klondyke Epitaph ll)7 

The Yukon Version 107 

The Stream 108 

Without Appeal 110 

By the Sea 112 

A Parable 113 

To Fit a Clown 115 

The Gate That Lures 120 

Easter 122 

His Crowning Sin 125 

Wannagan 127 

The Cross-roads 129 

The Shirker 132 

The Worker 133 

You Find What You Seek 134 

The Search for Faith 136 

Griggsby 138 

At Griggsby 140 

Graine d'Amour 145 



CONCENTRATES 

Concluded 

cp 

Love's Prayer 145 

The Charm 146 

My Yachting- Girl 146 

Not the Husk but the Corn 147 

A Fair Coquette 148 

The Chorus Girl 149 

Beatrice 151 

The Monk 152 

Not a Paradox 153 

Explained 153 

Misfits 154 

Love's Contrary 154 

Love's Thorns 155 

Blest Folly 156 

From the Club Window 157 

A Pensioner 158 

An Aquariumistic Parable 159 

'Nature's Coquette 161 

A Recipe 162 

In the Wing-s 163 

Semper Idem 165 

From Apartment 39 166 

When Swearing- Off 168 

The Heaviest Straw 169 

You Wonder Why? 170 

Laddie's Secret 171 

The Mysterious Guests 172 

I. In Our Street 174 

II. In Our Hospital 175 

III. At Home 176 

Arctic Voices 178 

The Rainbow's End 186 

Dig Down 188 

Life's Treasures 189 

Post Scriptum 190 



Stray Gold. 

An Incident of the Placers. 

cp 

NOT an ounce o' dnst — 
Clean bust ! 
A lost year, 
Slavin' here; 

Workin' th' shovel an' pick an' pan, 
Livin' on grub not fit fer a man 
An ' dreams o ' strikin ' it rich ! 
Reckon I've dug my last ditch — 
Down to hard-pan, bed-rock, at last, 
With all them pipe-dreams past : 
Dreams about goin' back home some day 
With a sackful o' nuggets, an' — 
Hellow, thar ! Say ! 
W'at d'ye mean — That is, come in, Pard. 
Ye s 'prised me a bit — I was thinkin' hard — 
Wasn't spectin' a call — 
That's all. 

Draw up here ; ye look done. 

Hoss petered? This trail aint no fun. 

What 1 Fifty mile ? Ye say 

Ye've done fifty mile today? 

Sho ! Take it easy ; stretch out across 

Th' fireplace. Stranger; I'll see t' yer hoss. 

[13]- 



Gosh! No wonder yer critter 'vS beat 

With that load holdin' down his feet — 

What ye got in 'm — lead? 

Hey? What was that ye said? 

Nuggets ? Gold-dust — gold ? 

W'y.. them saddle-bags 'ud hold 

Over a hundred-weight, I 'low — 

Yer laughin ' — guyin ' me ! How ? 

Goin ' home ? Got enough ? 

Wall, Stranger, it's kind o' rough — 

Not as I envy ye yer luck — 

But it's hard on an ole chap w'at's stuck 

To a prospeck hole, through thick an' thin. 

As I 've did, an ' then not make it win — 

It's apt, I say, ter make him rile 

When a tenderfoot strikes sich a pile. 

Sho ! Derned ef he ain't asleep! 

He's too trustin' t' keep 

Them nuggets long. — 

Ef I was like some 
He'd go from hyar to Kingdom Come — 
A.n' me? I reckon the eastern trail 
Wouldn 't find me no snail ! — 

A measly, low-down idee ! 
What's got inter me 
T' make me figger sich a thing? 
Shows what hard luck '11 bring 

fl4] 



A poor feller to, who 's alius bin 
Toler'ble free from sin. — 

But them bags was heavy, as — gold! 

What '11 they fetch when sold ? 

A hunderd-weight : forty thousan', rouo'li 

No wonder he said 'twas 'nough ! 

Wat's he did, that he should light 

On sieh a find as that ! 'Taint right. 

An' me a-slavin' long 

Onnothin'. Whar's th' wrong 

Ef I lets daylight inter th' cuss. 

Tumble him down a shaft — no muss — ■ 

x\n ' vamoose on his boss ? 

He wouldn't know no loss; 

An' I'd hev made a raise at last — 

Hold on! I'm mebbe too fast! 
P'raps th' feller's shammin'! — No; 
That snore's an honest enough un. Sol 
Not th' gun — I reckon this 
Ole knife aint so apt t' miss — 
'Twouldn't be pleasant to only wing 
The lad — the knife's th' thing! 

How he sleeps ! I kin feel his breath- 
He haint no thought o' death. 

[15] 



A leetle lower down — hyar^ — one blow, 

An' th' trick 'ud be Say ! Wake up ! 

Hello ! 
Hell, but th ' boy is sound asleep ! 
What 'm I shakin' ye fer? To keep 
Yer circulation up ! 
Reckon ye want t ' sup ! 

An' th' kettle's biled. Besides, my friend, 
'Taint jest healthy, I apperhend, 
Fer ye, with that gold fer yer piller, t' snore 
Hyar on my cabin floor. 
Suthin' might happen. I don't say what. 
Take a bite — an' git, w'ile yer gold ye've got 
An' yer life's yer own! Eh? How? 
What 're ye laughin' at now?" 
'Tain't no joke, I tell ye— What's that? Not 

gold ? 
Only some quartz to assay? Sold? 
Sold! Thank God! But take my advice: 
Don't ye never joke that way twice — 
Some fellers can't take that kind o' a joke. 

Ye've done yer feed? Fill yer pipe an' 

smoke. 
Sorry th' jug's out. Will I jine you? 
Wall, I don't keer ef I do! 



[16] 



THE BETTER SONG. 

cp 

Ye call this lonesome, Stranger f 
Wall, when ye stop to think 
That it's forty miles from anywhere 
Ye kin find a drop to drink, 

P'r'aps 'tis a trifle lonesomelike ; 
To a feller what only knows 
Sech kempany as th' town kin give 
'Tis lonesome, I suppose ; 

Bat to me thar's kempany enough, 
'nd a dern sight better, too ; 
I wouldn't swap the friends I hev 
Fer th' best ye ever knew. 

Ye'd like to know 'em? Easy 'nough, 
Ef ye've only th' mind to try. 
We'll hev to put th' candle out, 
Fer th ' critters 're summat shy ; 

'nd ye '11 hev to sit on th' stoop hyar, still, 
'nd use yer eyes 'ncl ears — 
That 's how I 've kim to make my friends ; 
I've done it fer twentv vears. 



17 



Now cast yer eyes across th ' lake 

To th' p'int whar th' moonlight ends 

'nd that pine on th' ridge thar cuts th' sky 

That pine-tree's one o' my friends. 

Ef ye listen right, ye kin hear 'im sing, 
'nd his v'ice is sweet 'nd low. 
Ye ought t' hear 'im lead th' quire 
AVhen th ' warm chinook-winds blow ! 

Right under him, at th' water's edge, 
Thar's a salt-lick, whar th' deer 
Come down at night. Ye kin see 'em pass 
When th' moon is shinin' clear — 

Jest shadders black agin th' stars. 
That make no sort o ' sound, 
'nless Big Tom stampedes th ' herd ; 
He's sometimes prowlin' round. 

Big Tom? He's another friend o' mine. 
I reckon thar aint nowhere 
A bigger mountain-cat ner him 
Awearin' yaller hair. 

Shoot him? No, stranger; I reckon not. 
He's never done nothin' to me. 
I pick no quarrel with anyone. 
So long 's they lets me be. 

18 



Besides, thar's a music in his v'ice 
That 's solemn-like 'nd grand 
AVhen that roar o' his comes rollin' down 
Across th' valley-land, 

'nd all th ' n 'ises o ' th ' night 
're sudden hushed, until 
Ye seem t ' hear th ' starlight fall, 
It gets so awful still. 

Ye think it's quiet now? Why, man. 
Thar's more 'n a thousand notes 
O ' livin ' breathin ' critters here 
Atr,vin ' t ' bust their throats : 

'tween th' crickets 'nd frogs 'nd katydids, 
'nd th' owl in that big fir-tree, 
'nd th' splashin' trout, 'nd th' rustlin' pines, 
Thar's a regular jubilee. 

Thar's th' cry o' th' loon thar on th' ]fiko! 
That's th' one unhappy note. 
That goes agin th' grain; 't makes 
A lump rise in my throat ; 

Fer it brings back other — younger — days. 
Spite o' all that I kin do. 
I mightn't mind it so much, ef — well. 
Ye see, her name was Lou ; 

19 



'nd when that big, black, lonesome bird 
Her name so sadly calls 
It seems like mockin ' o ' my thoughts ; 
'nd my spirits alius falls; 

Fer thar wont no callin' bring her back — 

Er this c^bin, I opine, 

'ucl hev a rose-bush by th' door, 

'nd a mornin '-glory vine ; 

'nd th' floor 'd be white, 'nd th' dishes 'd 

shine, 
'nd best o' all, thar 'd be 
A sweet-faced gal asitting' thar 
With a lovin' smile fer me. 



It was only th' same old story, sir, 
With nothin' about it strange. 
We two was young in them old days, 
'nd kim West, fer a change, 

With a hope some day to go back rich, 
flighty hard we tried ; 
But th' prospeck didn't pan out well— 
'nd Lou fell sick — 'nd died. 



20 



She lies down yander, by th' lake, 

On that little rise o ' ground 

AVhar ye noticed th' clearin' when ye kim, 

With heartsease growin' round. 

She alius loved them blossoms best — 
I 'm hopin ' that she knows 
That they are thar 'nd that I 'm here, 
To see as how they grows. 



But thar ! 

I've said enough to show 
Why I 'm content to stay, 
'nd why I feel less lonesome here 
Than any place away; 

'nd th' crickets, 'nd frogs, 'nd katydids, 
'nd th' owl in that big fir-tree, 
'nd th' splashin' trout, 'nd th' rustlin' leaves 
're kempany 'nough f er me — 

Till th' sun may rise on a better day — 
'nd I'm hopin' 'twont be long — 
When with her. in th' Better Place, 111 hear 
Th ' only better song ! 



21 



THE LOON. 

cp 

Calling, calling, with notes that pour 

Their tremulous measure from shore to shore, 

Sad with the sadness the wilderness knows, 

A plaintive melody ebbs and flows. 

With its coming, a hush like death 

Falls on the Forest ; with bated breath 

Each dweller wild its own note stills 

To hark to the voice that the silence fills. 

Sorrowful, shuddering, yet so clear 

That it startles and thrills each wakeful ear, 

As it mournfully searches the darkness 

through 
For ''Loo-oo-oo ! Loo-oo-oo-oo !" 



^ 



22 



THE DRIVER'S STORY. 

cp 

Ye see that cabin up thar in th' pines? 
It's mostly hidden by them trailin' vines, 
'Ceptin' the window, which, jest like an eye, 
Watches th' trail yere fer th' passer-by. 

'Twarn't long ago — an' yet it seems an age 
Since when, on rattlin' past yere with th' 

stage. 
That window used to be th' framin place 
Fer old Bill Miller's purty darter's face. 
I alius noticed it, bercuss, ye see. 
She 'd wave her hand an ' blow a kiss to me — 
An' .sich-like favors hyarabouts, as yet, 
Aint numerous enough to quite ferget. 

Ye needn't cock yer eye like that an' smile! 
That friendliness o' hern lit many a mile 
0' dusty trail fer me; but on th' sq'ar', 
'Twarn't nothin' more'n friendliness, that 

thar. 
I couldn't hope fer more'n that from her. 
Why, she was like them fine princesses were 
In that thar book she give t' me last Fall,— 
'Ceptin' that she was purtier'n 'em all. 

23 




Yer right ; I knowed her well. Ye see, I UvSed 
T' stop thar, jest t' keep old Bill amoosed. 
Th' old man set a powerful store by me. 
Though why he should I couldn 't rightly see, 
An' Bess was alius watchin' down th' trail 
Fer me bercuss I used t ' tote th ' mail. 

So things went on ; an ' letters kim fer her ; 
But I — I didn't anj^thin' infer. 

It was th' fust snow — that off leader, Pete. 
Had a hard time t ' keep his slipp 'ry feet — 
A smirkin' sort o' cuss dim up an took 
A seat by me at Butte. I gave a look 
An' said that seat I reckoned mine t' fill. 
I was about t' give th' cuss a spill 
When, lookin' at th' measly critter's face, 
It struck me I'd no mail fer Miller's place — 
An' like a flash it come t' me that it 
Mought have been him as had them letters 
writ. 

That was enough. T let him settle down; 
An' when we'd struck th' rise beyond th' 

town 
I up an' axed ef he was goin' through. 
''Narry," savs he; '^Bill Miller's ranch '11 

do." 

24 



I wasn't minded fer to pick a fuss, 
An' yet I couldn't help but ax th' cuss 
AA^har he was from. He wasn't fazed th" 

least, 
But ans'ered, off-hand like, ''From way down 

East." 
''How d'ye know Bill Miller?" 
"Don't," says he. 
"Then why 're ye goin' tharV 
He winked at me 
An' I could choked th' cuss I reckon, glad. 
As he replied that Bill a darter had. 
"I come to know her," he explained, "last 

year 
When she was at th' seminary, near 
To whar I lived." 

I alius thought that Bill 
Had bin a fool to send Bess East, to fill 
Her purty head with notions — but, ye see. 
To give th' old man p'ints I wasn't free. 

I set him down at Miller's. Thar an' then 
I knowed thar warn't no chance fer other 

men; 
An' so it proved. No, sir; ye havn't guessed — 
Ye couldn't, though yer keen enough — th' 

rest 
As f oiler eel. 

25 



Old Bill owned th' ''Silver Queen," 
Th' which I reckon, panned a million clean. 
That thar's the how he sent Bess East t' 

1 'arn 
T ' be a lady, at some fool consarn 
As didn't spoil her quite, but whar she met 
An ' come t ' love that cuss — an ' loves him yet ! 
An' he — I reckon he had heered about 
Th' way Bill Miller's Silver Queen panned 

out. 
Though p 'raps I 'm wrong ; he may hev loved 

her, too — 
As no man half a man could help but do, 

Arter that I swapped routes, an' tuk a run 
Acrosst th' plains a trip 'r so, fer fun. 
It kind o' riled, ye know, t' pass this way 
An' miss th' friendliness Bess used t' pay. 

I reckon I'd bin runnin' east'ard vStill 
But that another chap kim long t' fill 
This seat beside me — pumped me all th' way 
About that cuss who'd come to Bill's to stay. 

That made me twig that mought be summat 

wrong, 
So I swapped back agin, an' kim along. 



26 



He was a slender little chap, this one, 
Who, though he'd plenty questions, ans'ered 

none. 
Aclimbin' up th' slope, we both was still ; 
But as we reached th' rise o' this hyar hill, 
By Miller's cabin thar we spied them two. 
Bill Miller's Bess an' him, acomin' through 
Th' pines jest yonder. Right yere, with a 

frown 
But nary word, my little chap lep' down 
An' laid fer 'em. I pulled up short, an' they 
Come along do^ii to see what was to pay ; 

An ' when he clapped his sneaky eyes upon 
Th' little chap I'd brung, he looked to run, 
But didn't — fer ye see th' little skeet 
Had drawed a gun an ' kivered him complete ! 

Jest how it happened I don 't know ; but Bess, 
Lookin' at me, an' then at them, no less 
AVhite'n the new-fell snow upon th' ground, 
Turned to th' little chap, an', with a bound, 
Grabbed the six-shooter — then, as cool as me, 
Kivered her cringin' lover. 

''Now," says she, 
''I half-way guess — ^^this aint no time to lie. 
What has he done, that he desarves to die 1 ' ' 



27 




^ ' Done ! ' ' sobbed th ' little chap ; but said no 

more, 
Fer down his cheeks th' tears begun t' pour 
An' choked him up; an' jest then I began 
To savey clo 'es don 't alius make a man ; 
For this yere little skeet was jest a lass. 
Who'd follered him, bereuss — but let that 

pass. 

Bess laughed. I hope I'll never hear again 
A laugh like that o' hern, so full o' pain. 
An' then she handed up th' gun to me. 
^'I reckon you'll know what to do," says she; 
^ ' Take these two with ye — guard 'em like yer 

life— 
An' when ye reach town, make 'em man an' 

wife!"' 

I said I reckoned ef I failed I'd pay 
His funeral expenses on th' way. 

An ' so Bess left us. An ' I wheeled 'em down. 
An ' saw him marry her that night in town. 

Old Bill instanter tuk his gal away — 
They're some'ers now in Europe, so they 
say— 



28 



An ' I 'm agoin ' to swap acrosst th ' range ; 

I feel as if I 'd got t ' have a change. 

Why don't I stay? She mought come back? 

I guess 
Ye don 't know much about sich gals as Bess ! 



29 




THE MISSING MAN. 

One Wolf— And Another One. 

cp 

A lone wolf howled in the tamarack vsvvamp, 
A¥here a man had staggered away. 
And the ghostly gleam of a cold moonbeam 
Disclosed where the missing man lay. 

The missing man roused at the lone wolf's 

howl. 
And raised the flask at his side, 
And, shuddering there in the moon's cold 

glare, 
Took one last drink — and died. 

The gaunt wolf cowered, but did not run; 

He crouched with gleaming eyes, 

And his blood-red tongue from his lean chops 

hung 
As he gloated over his prize. 

The following day the lone wolf lay 

And lazily blinked in the sun; 

And the bones stripped bare bore evidence 

there 
That his work had been well done. 



ao 




To the logging-camps of our frozen North 
The mails bring stained requests. 
Mis-spelt and crude, that serve for food 
For the Rum-seller's idle jests. 



The bones still lie where the wolves may spy 
This work of tivo of their clan ; — 
And a woman in tears still pens her fears, 
Seeking news of her missing man. 




IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 

Believe me, Father ! My one desire — 

The thing that burned like living fire 

Within my breast — 

Was but to find him and make him mend 

Her broken heart — the wrong to end — 

And leave to God the rest. 

He should wed her. No other thought 

Was mine. No more than this I sought. 

Though happiness 

Might never be for her again. 

She should at least be spared the pain, 

The shame — the soul's distress. 

I found him. How, it matters not. 

Few words I used. 

Bluntly I told him what I tliought. 

He seemed amused. 

Hotly I persevered. 

And he — but sneered. 

Then, with dumb fury, in my rage 
I sprang, intent 
Upon his lying throat to wage 
An argument 



32 



More potent than the one 

My tongue had spun. 

Hushed were his taunts, in terror merged; 

Lost was his mocking art. 

It was a giant's strength that surged 

Up from my bursting heart ; 

Some Demon urged 

]\Iy hands to do their part, 

And like a vise my fingers clung, 

Tight, and tighter yet, 

All of their steel-like muscles strung 

To the pitch my fury set ; 

And there they hung 

Till he should own his debt. 

How shall I say what followed? AVhy 

Should I pause — or hesitate? 

Who shall question Fate"? 

Dear God ! Was I to blame 

That, in my blindness. Justice came 

My purpose to deny? 

The Debt was owned; the debt was paid. 
Not as I willed, nor planned, 
But Fate. Too late my hand 
Fell from his strangled throat. 
Never again its lying note 
Could e'er deceive a maid. 



And she? I should have told her all. 

As conscience urged me to. 

The while I watched her hot tears fall — 

Each one a drop that scarred my soul, 

Torturing it beyond control. 

Then first the truth I knew : 

That woman, strength and weakness wed, 

Once loving, loves for aye, 

Whether for good or ill ; is led 

The greatest evil to forgive; 

To suffer all, so love may live, 

Though love should love betray. 



FROM THE DEPTHS. 

cp 

The blue above and the blue below ; 

^lidway from land to land. 

Cool from the mouth of midnight blow 

Sea-breaths heavy with brine ; 

And on the plunging bows I stand 

And dream, if she were mine ! 

Deep as the sullen waves that break 

Against the lifting bows 

Are the thoughts that in my soul awake 

Longings vast and vain — 

High as the starry dome, the vows ; 

Dumb as the night, the pain. 

She was a woman. AVhat need for more? 

That word ''woman" conveys the store 

Of what is best. 

Who can fathom, or comprehend 

How human and divine contend 

Within a woman's breast? 

Strength and weakness, subtly blent 

Into a tuneful instrument 

Which, touched aright. 

Yields to the world its sweetest song: 

That is a woman. But touch it wrong. 

The song is ended quite. 



I love her. She may never know, 

Nor ever care. 

The art to win the song divine 

From woman's heart was never mine. 

That gift is rare. 

My one endeavor brought me nought but woe. 

I had no ready tongue at need; 

I lacked the skill 

That he possessed, a maid to woo, 

With honied words — vows seeming true — 

Her heart to thrill. 

]\Iy poor heart could but dumbly silent plead. 

'Tis over. Here, neath the stars, alone. 

Bound for I care not where, 

I may own what my heart has ever known : 

That I love her mor(^ and more ; 

Though I ne'er may hope her love to wear, 

Nor tell how I adore. 

The blue above and the blue beloAv ; 

]\lidway from land to land; 

Cool from the mouth of midnight blow; 

Sea-breaths heavy with brine ; 

And on the plunging bows T stand 

And dream : If she were mine ! 



36 



THE BLIND. 

op 

Over the drowsy land 

The loving hand 

Of evening laid its hush ; 

A thrush 

Contentedly its downy feathers preened 

And nestled closer neath the leaves that 

screened 
Its nest. 

As came a man within whose heart unrest 
Lay heavily, and whose thought 
Knew not the thing his soul, distempered. 

sought. 
A ray of moonlight fell. 
Piercing the dreamy shadows of the dell ; 
And one tall, stately pine, 
AVith needles fine, 
A witching tracery cast. 

At last 

He spoke: ''How like a spear 

The moonlight falls ! The sky — how coldly 

clear, 
Like polished steel, making a prison cell 
Of this poor earth that mortals love so well ; 
And o'er the enshrouding gloom 
There fitly rests the silence of a tomb!" 

37 



Waked by the angry wind, 

AVith fury blind 

And deafening roar 

The billows lash the shore. 

Black clouds go scurrying by 

Across the sky, 

And all the shuddering forest, tempest-tossed, 

Moans like a spirit lost, 

As comes a man within whose heart the light 

Of new-born happiness glows passing bright. 

He breasts the storm without a thought 

Of all the havoc that it may have wrought : 

' ' Welcome, the wind 's embrace ! 

What charming grace 

The waving trees display ! Their lulling 

song 
Echoes the harping of some Angel throng ; 
The breaking waves. 
Like laughing knaves. 
Their chorus lend!" 
So he his way doth wend. 

And so alone doth Nature's mystic art 
Attune her moods to every human. heart. 
The wakened soul doth its own music find 
In nature 's moods — to nature 's music blind ! 



38 



1 



RONCEVAUX. 

cp 
(After Alfred de Vi^ny) 

I love the sound of the hunter's horn 

In the depth of the silent wood. 

Whether it signal the hind at bay. 

Or voice the hunter's mood; 

The golden echo of each pure note 

'er many a forest mile 

The north wind carries fitfully. 

From leafy aisle to aisle. 

At times, alone, in the early morn 

T have wakened its sound to hear. 

And have listened to it, sometimes with a 

smile, 
But oftener with a tear; 
For its sad, prophetic note is filled 
With the strains of long ago : 
The challenges blown by knights of eld, 
Ere grim death laid them low. 

Oh, mountains oi azure blue, whose crests 
Are kissed by the bluer sky ! 
Land adorecl; Rocks of Frpuzona, 
Who have seen the bravest die ! 



39 




Cascades of silvery white, from snows 
Eternal as the seas, 

To which they rush in torrents of foam 
From the heights of the Pyrenees ! 

Mountains frozen, yet flower-bedecked ; 

Throne of the seasons four ; 

With thy snow-clad, ice-capped pinnacles, 

Where only the eagles soar ! 

It is there, at th,y feet, that one should sit 

P^'or there one needs must hear 

The tender air of a distant horn 

Whose note still echoes clear. 

Soul of the ''Soul of Chivalry:" 

Do you not speak again 

In the melancholy note of the horn 

That echoes o'er mount and plain? 

Roncevaux, ah Roncevaux ! 

In thy dark vale's sombre deep 

Doth not the noble soul of Roland 

Still lonely vigil keep ? 



40 






AT AVALON. 

The day awakes, as from a pleasant dream, 
And turning- toward the sun, a golden smile 
Liglits all the drowsy sea. The birds with 

song 
Herald the advent of her rising lord; 
And she, the Day, with virgin arms upraised. 
In rapture drains the measure of his love. 

The homing birds sing on, with softened flow; 
The sated bloj^soms droop their tender heads; 
Then, with a pei^eeful sigh of full content, 
She gives one blushing kiss, one fleeting smile. 
One last responsive gleam from ocean's 

depths. 
And veils her gentle eyes ; and sleeps ! 



^ 



41 




BRITISH COLUMBIA. 

dp 

A land where the mountains meet the sea 

In a boisterous embrace. 

Where the summer sun and the North-Avind 

free 
War for the primal place ; 
Where the sturdy hemlock, birch and pine, 
Each sheltered valley claim. 
And Arctic mosses intertwine 
AVith the goldenrod aflame. 



qccio 



UNREST. 

cp 

Here is the mountain, there is the sea. 

Each a symbol of destiny : 

AVhat though the mountain top cleaves the 

sky. 
What though the clouds kiss its pinnacles 

high ? 
AVhat though the ocean caresses the shore, 
AFurmuring secrets the billows roll o'er? 
Cold is the kiss that the white vapors weave ; 
Barren the secret the sea-shells receive. 

42 



The heart of the wave in its wild unrest 
Longingly lifts toward the mountain's crest; 
The deep-prisoned heart of the mountain 

cave 
Sighs to embrace the cool, ocean wave ; 
Yet were stern nature to wed these twain 
Each would strive for its freedom again ! 

cpcpcp 



GADZOOKS ! 

cp 

AVhat boy is there, who, having heard 
The morning songs of bee and bird 
And marked the gorgeous butterfly 
Upon its voyage toward the sky ; 
AYho knows the swimming-pool amid 
The shady willows safely hid; 
AVho pictures in his glowing mind 
The spot where he perchance could find 
A fisher's nest beside the creek, 
A squirrel playing hide and seek, 
A berry-bush with promise bent 
To lade the air with sweet content — 
With such bright visions filling up 
Unto the brim the tempting cup, 

43 



Has not been forced to drain the dregs 
Of misery, the while his legs 
With lagging gait, unto the school 
Have carried him, to seem the fool 
And win the dunce-cap or the rod 
From some pedantic, shriveled clod 
A¥ho thinks to flog to learning's goal 
Each prisoned but rebellious soul — 
The while, through windows high, the lad 
IMay see the swallows soaring glad, 
That, as they dip and dart and skim. 
With freedom seem to mock at him ! 

'Tis little strange that lie should miss 
His lessons on a day like this, ' 
But passing strange it is that he. 
When grown to grave maturity. 
Should such a day at school recall 
And deem it happiest of all. 



^ 



44 



« 



THE CREAM OF THE MILKING. 

cp 

With heads above the mangers bent, 
The cattle munch in slow content 
The fragrant hay, 
AVhich to the stable-loft has lent 
A memory of May ; 

The while, with golden ringlets pressed 
To Mooley's flank, and pail at rest 
Between her knees, 
Fair Polly sits, in apron dressed, 
Amilking at her ease. 

Her petticoats are tucked with care 

About her, and reveal a pair 

Of dainty feet 

And just a tantalizing share 

Of ankles trim and neat ; 

And as the slender streams begin 
To beat a merry, tuneful din 
Upon the pail. 
Her gawky lover shuffles in. 
With tongue and heart that fail. 



45 




In awkward silence then his eyes 
Tell plainly what he vainly tries 
To say to her — 

Which Polly, quite contrariwise. 
Refuses to infer. 

The creamy foam within the ]^ail 
^lounts swiftly upward toward the bail; 
The milking 's done ; 
And he. who would her heart assail. 
Still lingers dumbly on. 

He lifts the milk-pail and the stool 
And, feeling more and more the fool. 
Beside her goes ; 

And thinks he'd give the world to school 
His tongue to tell his woes. 

Then from the pail filled to the brim 

He spills a mite, alack, and him 

To task she takes ; 4 

But he, with resolution grim, 

A noble effort makes : 

''I'm glad I did it, Polly dear; J 

For like this brimming bucket here 
You've filled niA^ heart 



46 



So brimming full, 'twill break, I fear. 
Unless it spills a part. 

"Stop laughing at me, Polly, do! 
Of course I did 'nt mean that you 
]\Iy heart had filled 
With milk ! 'Tis full of love as true 
As e'er a man's heart thrilled. 

' ' T 've told it in a clumsy way 

I know — but there: Come, Polly! Say 

That you will fill 

My heart and life and all for aye." 

And Polly laughs. "I will!" 



cpcp 



THE OLDEST INHABITANT. 

cp 

The first song of the robin 

Sets my poor old heart a-throbbin' 

And I find myself a-sobbin' 

For the thoughts I can't express; 

For the song-birds are our brothers: 

All of us old Nature mothers, 

And with their love-songs she smothers 

All our human cussedness. 

47 



THE DARK. 

dp 

The hour when sunbeams fade and die 
And twilight shrouds them in a pall; 
When hushed is every song-bird's cry, 
And hesitating dew-drops fall 
To touch with heaven 's tears the rose 
And scatter fleeting pearl-drops shy 
Upon the new-mown mead, that knows 
The night wind's low, complaining sigh; 

The hours when, in the deepening gloom, 
The children cuddle by the fire 
And fill the shadows of the room 
AVith fear-imagined spectres dire ; 
When ghostly corners by the stair 
An aspect new and strange assume. 
And one becomes a griffin's lair. 
And one an entrance to a tomb ; 

This hour is loved the best of all 
l)y age, whose lonely heart mny trace, 
The whi^e, the glowing embers fall, 
Th(^ lines of each beloved face. 
And glean a touch of solace still. 
As longing memories recall 
The forms that only thus may fill 
The vacant chairs beside the wall. 

48 



TO ELBERT HUBBARD. 

A Prophecy, May 8, 1915. 

cp 

The Gates have opened wide to you; 
j\Ien say your work is done. 
But men are wrong. If they but knew, 
Your work has just begun. 



49 



LOVE'S FIRST TOUCH. 

cp 

111 the dread moments when the rebellious 

soul 
I\Iasters its sentinels, throws wide the door, 
Lets in the light upon the faded images 
Within the secret depths of memory, 
And contemplates the wreck of promises. 
The blasted hopes, the unfulfilled desires. 
That mark the pathway of the wasted years, 
Eecalling, one by one, the days that were. 
Their dreams, ambitions, faiths and fallacies, 
There is one scene that dominates the whole, 
A masterpiece, immortal as the soul 
Howe'er the will may seek to blot it out: 
A face, whose ideal lineaments, engraved 
By one great master-touch upon the heart. 
Stand forth in vivid colors that defy 
The hand of time to mar or mellow them. 



tji 



50 



A QUESTION. 

cp 

Beneath the shade 

A little maid 

Sank down among the clover. 

Though indiscreet, 

The grasses sweet 

To slumber won her over; 

And as she slept, 

Dan Cupid crept, 

With elfish mischief teeming, 

To breathe a sigh 

On either eye. 

Then fled and left her dreaming. 

And now the maid 

Is sore afraid. 

For she beholds a wonder : 

As fair a man 

As heart could plan 

Or maiden vision ponder. 

With sigh and vow 

He woos her now, 

And. now would claim her answer ; 

And causes fear 

To disappear — 

For love's a necromancer, 

51 




And skilled to paint 

The sinner saint, 

Or prove the coward fearless, 

Or clothe bold vice 

With artifice 

Of virtues seeming peerless. 

She feels the bliss 

Of love 's first kiss 

Upon her dainty fingers. 

And then the charm 

Of kisses warm, 

As on her lips he lingers; 



And so she knows 

The rapturous throes 

That ne'er can be repeated — 

For heart that's won 

And left undone 

Can ne'er again be cheated. 

Were you or I 

To happen by 

And know that thus she's dreaming, 

That her light heart 

Would break to part 

With wluit is but a seeming, 

52 



Say : Would we wake 

The maid, to break 

The heart that she is staking ? 

Or would we let 

Her slumber yet, 

And guard her from awaking? 



qocpcp 

THE SONG OF THE WORLDS. 

cp 

What is the breath of the summer sky ? 
What does it whisper the roses. 
That all of their dainty petals sigh 
And blush at the tale it discloses? 

What have the murmuring leaves to tell? 
Of what is their low song treating, 
That the drooping buds of the shy harebell 
Are stealthily repeating? 

It is the secret nature hears 
In every zephyr blowing ; 
It is the secret of the spheres; 
The only one worth knowing ! 



53 




TOUJOURS. 

Le cceur de mon ami. 

dp 

Through all my days, on all my \^'ays, 
There is naught in the world but this: 
The dream divine that held you mine 
And the memory of your kiss. 

In that far time, that gentle clime. 

When I came in the sun to you, 

]\Iy skies were bright, my world alight, { 

And to worship was all I knew. I 

Though dear desire, the flame, the fire, 
]\Iay have died in a path of pain, \ 

Though youth be gone, the dream be done, ^ 

Can we say I have loved in vain? 

God sent you. Sweet, to guide my feet. 
Though in absence my heart be wrung. 
By frights and fears and bitter tears. 
And the song of my soul be sung. 

Through all my days, on all my ways. 
There is naught in the world but this: 
Your image fair, my heart's despair, 
And the joy it was mine to miss. 

54 



THE BIRTH OF LOVE. 



cp 



Yon held a flower one day between yonr lips 
Whose fragrance mingled with yonr own 

sweet breath. 
It seemed to glean delight from the eclipse, 
As if all bitterness had passed from death. 
And to your lips to cling, until to mine 
You pressed its dying petals — then your soul 
Through it my spirit thrilled, as might the 

wine 
Men called "The tears of Christ," because 

the vine 
AVhose rich life fed the luscious grapes was 

grown 
From the hot heart of the volcano lone. 
Unto my heart of hearts the perfume stole. 
And there, till death shall come, 'twill ever lie. 
Breathing a memory that ne'er can die 
Though all else crumble into finest dust — 
Since love lives ever, and forever must 
]\Iy soul be thine and thy remembrance be 
The sweetest music in Eternity. 



55 




CHOOSE. 

cp 

The gleaming stars are longing to embrace 
The sunlight warm that they reflect so fair, 
But fate allots to each of them its place 
And coldly binds it there ; 

Yet now and then one too rebellious grows 
And shoots, a flaming meteor, through the 

sky — 
One fleeting glimpse of paradise it knows, 
And then is doomed to die ! 

Whose is the better fate : the star that stays 
Afar and constantly reflects the sun. 
Or that which, breaking from empyreal ways, 
A taste of heaven won ? 



I 



^ 



56 



THE BRIGHTEST STAR. 

cp 

The brightest star that in the heavens burns 
May seem to wander ere the night be flown, 
But 'tis the world that from the star-light 

turns ; 
The star burns on, alone. 

True love is faithful as the constant star 
And shines the brightest in the darkest hour : 
The star burns on alone ; 
True love till life be done. 



cpcpcp 

AN AUTOGTRAPH. 

cp 

Upon this virgin page I write 
My autograph for you tonight 

With clumsy art. 
Far more enduring may I trace 
My name, and with a better grace. 

Upon your heart. 



57 



THE WATERS OF FATE. 

cp 

The ocean, with its moods, majestic, grand, 

Beating upon the sand 

With baffled power, 

But parallels life's storm-tossed hour 

Tempestuous. 

Yet here and there are shallow, stagnant 

ponds. 
Moss-hedged and strewn with fronds, 
Slime-clad and dank; 
No ripple ever stirs from bank to bank 
Their waters calm. 

Like these, some lives are quiet to the end: 

Emotions never rend 

Their depths unknown. 

Or stir their passions ; calm and lone, 

They suffer not. 

Barren the stagnant fate such lives enfold ; 

Better the ocean bold. 

The life that's deep. 

With power to laugh, to moan, to rage, to 

weep. 
To understand ! 

58 



HELLO, CENTRAL! 

Of all the voices that most delight 
There is one that is soft and sweet and low, 
AVhose call I obey, be it day or night, 
To whose cheery cadence and lyrical flow 
Full many a cherished moment I owe, 
Although its owner I have never known. 
But 'tis mine to hear it each hour or so : 
The musical voice of the girl at the 'phone. 

She asks, "What number?" in tones that 

might 
Be arrows stolen from Cupid's bow. 
For all of my senses they excite 
And pervade with a subtle, lingering glow; 
And I feel I would give the world to know 
And claim its source for my very own — 
And I will if it gives me but half a show — 
The musical voice of the girl at the 'phone. 

She must be beautiful, loving and bright, 
With a heart both tender and free, I trow ; 
And I know she is young, with a figure slight, 
For these two items she 's deigned to bestow ; 



59 



But further than this I 'm forbidden to go ; 
For the rest I must forage in fancy 's zone ; 
A¥hile dearer daily its accents grow, 
The musical voice of the girl at the 'phone. 

cp 

L 'envoi. 

Prince: Dan Cupid, our direst foe, 

Has never a dart from his quiver thrown 

That could equal this cause of my exquisite 

woe : 
The musical voice of the girl at the 'phone ! 



60 



''LA DEMI-VIERGE." 

(Paris Salon, 1900.) 

op 

A maiden young and passing fair; 
No man might boast 'twas his to place 
A flush of shame upon her face, 
Or plant a sorrow there; 

And yet there lurks a smouldering tire 
Within her eyes, 'neath lashes long, 
That burn and throb Avith flashes strong 
Of ill-controlled desire. 

To wake the beast within the heart 
Of him who falls beneath their ray 
And prostrate at her feet to lay 
A soul debased : Her art ! 

cp qo C|0 

THE BACHELOR. 

cp 

Death holds no horror in its varied guise 
That may compare in agony with this : 
To feel hot youth leap in the pulsing veins 
And all the pent up passion of the soul 
O'erflow and thrill the being 'neath the touch 
Of one replete to satisfy desire, 

61 



Yet know that, while the spirit thus is young. 
The heart untutored, virgin, undefiled, 
Despiteous Age has stolen unawares 
The outward semblance of the inner fires. 
Has streaked the hair with silver, lined the 

brow, 
Drained the young color from the shrunken 

cheeks, 
Shrivelled the skin and dimmed the lustrous 

eyes. 
Bowing the form beneath a growing load 
Of days, and months, and years. 

The tortured soul, 
So prisoned in a living sepulchre 
With fancies impotent and longings vain. 
And learning, all too late, that joyous Love 
Can ne'er in such a ruin find abode. 
Longs for and totters toward the restful 

grave. 
Though not unloving, yet imloved.unmourned. 

This is a curse to make the dead draw close 
The mouldering shrouds about their rotting 

bones 
And rest contented, in their musty graves. 
That Heaven spared them such a living doom ! 



62 



A PRODIGAL. 

A genial bachelor is the sun, 
Counting the lonely hours 
In his high estate, with never a mate 
To share his ethereal bowers ; 

But as he goes to his night's repose 
And the stars peep one by one. 
He wishes that he a youth might be. 
With "Love" in his lexicon. 

Then would he rise and, in some disguise. 
Beguile the Pleiades fair; 
The planets he 'd skirt, with Venus he 'd tiirt, 
No matter how Mars might glare ; 

With Saturn he'd joke, with Faye's Comet 

smoke. 
And the glittering Milky Way 
He would turn into punch and on nebulae 

lunch, 
Till his rays wouldn't fit him next dav! 



THE INNER LIGHT. 

cp 

No jewel gleams till torn from mother earth, 
And cut and ground ; and so, perchance, the 

best 
That lies within each mortal's erring heart 
By Nature stern is hidden, until Life, 
By some like cruel art, may conjure forth 
Its virtues, not for men to know, but God. 

cpcpcp 

THE RAG-PICKER. 

cp 

Bent and decrepit, on her lonely way 

In solitary wretchedness she goes ; 

And yet within that wreck of human clay 

A soul its clw^elling knows. 

And who can tell what precious thoughts may 

lie . , * 

Locked in her withered breast, beyond our 

ken, 
]^ut clear to Him, wliose all-discerning eye 
Sees all the thoughts of men f 



64 



THE REAL HERO. 

There is many a hard-fought battle lost, 

And many a victory won, 

Where one alone may count the cost 

Or know what the war has done ; 

There is many a man in the dead of night 

Has faced his own bare soul. 

And there, alone, has fought the fight 

That enslaves or makes him whole ! 

cp 

I. 

MY PRAYER. 

cp 

Give us this day our daily task 
With strength enough to do it well. 
No other blessing need we ask; 
In this one all the others dwell. 



G5 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS. 

dp 

There wavS a Christmas long ago 
When Heaven was young; 
When its wide portals were aglow 
With songs unsung ; 

When no Archangel, with a sword 
Of flame to guard 
The habitation of the Lord. 
The entrance barred. 

The Empyrean then alone 

A Presence knew. 

And all without the inner throne 

Was empty blue ; 

And nothing was. and naught had been 
That Avas to be. 

Save the one AVill. that held, within. 
A thought of Three. 

This was the mystery that wrought 
The Saving One: 
From the infinitude of Thought 
There came a Son; 



66 



And with the Son, Love, heaven-blessed 

A Trmity 

Omnipotent to manifest 

Divinity. 



G7 



THE SCOFFER. 



cp 



He stands alone within the darkened room, 
Silent and chill, from which her spirit fled ; 
With stony gaze, unheeding of the gloom, 
He looks upon his dead. 

But yesterday — a withered blossom blown 
By fleeting time from off the tree of life 
And lost within the fathomless unknown — 
This lived and was his wife. 

But yesterday — an alien to grief, 
Untaught by woes that now upon him weigh — 
He scorned her faith, he mocked at her be- 
lief: 
He cannot scoff today. 

He flings himself beside the senseless clay 

Dry-eyed; no tears have lightened his de- 
spair ; 

His trembling lips have never learned to 
pray, 

Yet now they move in prayer ! 



68 



A FLOWER. 

High on the mountain, where the chill winds 

blow 
Wooing the glaciers of eternal snow 
Whose heart of ice is proof against the sun, 
Close to a granite rock, he found. 
Nestling upon the lichen-covered ground. 
Where it a sterile resting-place had won, 
A tender violet of deepest blue. 

He gazed, enraptured ; and perchance it knew 
The love it had awakened in his heart. 
For, as he knelt, its soul's sweet incense free 
A promise breathed of immortality — 
In which a thing so pure might share a part. 

One by his side said, '''Tis the queen of 

flowers ! 
Stoop lower, love, and make the blossom 

ours. ' ' 

"Not ours but God's," he answered, passing 

on; 
"Perchance its mission has but just begun." 



69 



I 

PASSIM. '! 

Hushed in Nature's lullaby 

Lo, the old year drifts away, . 

With a silent exequy 

O'er the joys of yesterday. 

Buried fathoms deep are they 

'Neath the hours that heavy lie, 

Sombre, wraith-like, cold and grey. 

Hushed in Nature's lullaby. 

Hushed in Nature's lullaby 

One more year is born today. 

All the whispering breezes sigh 

Promises of joys that may 

Prove but phantoms to betray » 

Longing hopes that fruitless lie, 

As the slow hours fade away. 

Hushed in Nature's lullaby. 

Hushed in Nature's lullaby 
All that is shall be some day ; 
And new worlds, mysteriously 
Wrought from out this world's decay. 
Drifting through the empyreal way. 
Naught shall dream of what may lie, v 
Under Time's relentless sway. 
Hushed in Nature's lullaby. 
70 



THE SONG OF AZRAEL. 

cp 

What is the world to me? 

A throne. 

What are its peoples? 

All my own. 

Who is my master ? 

I have none ; 

I rule alone. 

AVhat is the secret I guard so well? 

Is there a Heaven ? Is there a hell ? 

Is there a future life? 

To tell 

Would break my spell ! 



71 



LIFE. 

cp 

To laugh a little, 

Love a little, 

Grieve a little; 

Then 

To answer to the summons 

Of life's Great Amen. 

All over? Ended? Gone? 

Oh, God : 

Not just to hope — 

To know 

A day will dawn 

When we may meet again 

The one whose loss we mourn for 

Here below! 



cpcpcp 



72 



THE BIRTH OF IRIS. 

In the dark confines of the frozen zone 
Aurora stoops to kiss the crystal seas, 
With Hght caresses weaving rhapsodies 
Of prismic hues whose secret is God's own; 
The stately bergs, from their chill birthplace 

blown 
By the harsh chiding of the Arctic breeze, 
Drift aimlessly where e'er the wind decrees, 
When shiv'ring summer o'er their realm has 

flown. 
And silent pass adown the ocean stream, 
Gaunt, lonely sentinels upon the deep. 
Till, worn by wasting sun, fantastic grown. 
O'er shimmering minarets there glint and 

gleam 
A mj^riad mystic rays, that vigil keep 
To glean the rainbows by Aurora sown. 

cpcpcp 

JMITCH IN LITTLE. 

cp 

A cheering word, a loving deed. 
An hour well spent : 
By these alone we know the meed 
Of pure content. 

73 



MY TRIAD. 

cp 

I have a graveyard all my own 

Where I seek to bury my dead, 

With never a tear and never, a moan 

And never a burial read. 

Deep in my heart is my burial-ground 

AVhere I seek to lay them away ; 

But their ghosts remain, and follow me round 

Through many a night and day. 

Through many a weary day and night 

The ghosts of my dreams pursue, 

And refuse to stay buried out of sight, 

Spite of all that I can do; 

For each of my dreams to Hope was wed, 1 

And hope will never die. 

But insists on resurrecting the dead f 

And whispering: ''Try again — TRY!" ; 

There's the ghost of the Rugged Labrador * 

With its rainbows trapped in stone 

And holding a world of wealth in store 

That I thought to make my own ; 

But my puny strength was not enough 

To set the mountain free ; 

And it lies there — diamonds in the rough — 

And still is calling to me. 

74 



With it the ghost of my bid for fame 

Just simply will not down, 

And it whispers, "Try again — be game; 

In the end you may win renow^n ! ' ' 

So I scribble each night for an hour or two 

Rubbish no one will buy — 

For my punk ideas always seem brand new^ 

And they give me the itch to try. 

Then there's the ghost of four years of life 

Adrift on a copper wave. 

It w^on't stay buried — spite of my wife, 

Who told me to dig its grave. 

It dogs my steps, and it tells me true : 

"I am here in Green Mountain high 

Waiting for you. Get busy ; do ; 

And finish that tunnel— TRY!" 

There's another that haunts me more than all 

And wakens a longing warm ; 

'Tis the ghost of days beyond recall 

That were lived back on the farm; 

And the hope is with me day and night 

That sometime, ere I die, 

I may try it again — and try it right — 

And'^I'm going to TRY to TRY! 



75 



DO YOU BELIEVE IN FAIRIES? 

cp 

Do you believe in fairies? I do, 

And I think to believe in them pays : 

To those who have faith they are helpful and 

true 
As they were in our nursery days. 

This world has its terrible giants, too. 

Despite of that small hero, Jack, 

Warm friend of our youth, who, they say, 

killed a few. 
But who left a lot more to come back. 

There's that powerful giant. ''AVhat People 

May Say;" 
And the selfish one, ''What Do I Care;" * 
And his impudent brother, ''Get Out of My 

Way;" 
And their arrogant friend, ''You Don't 

Dare." 

The first sets the fashion for frivolous folk ; 
The next turns their heart into stone; 
The third will most certainly trouble invoke; 
The fourth 's fool temptations are known. 



76 



These are but a few of the hundreds we know, 
]\Iany being far worse than these four. 
Some giants know you — think a moment or so, 
And you'll recognize those at your door. 

All of which brings me back to the Fairies 

again ; 
And I '11 show that the Fairies are near, 
To fight with our giants with might and 

with main 
Whenever we bid them appear: 

From these Fairies I'll name you will see 

what I mean : 
There is one that is called, ''Am I Right!" 
"What People May Say" will be conquered, 

I ween. 
If we call on this fairy to fight. 

Another is styled, "Wliy not make him a 

Friend?" 
He delights to strike "What Do I Care," 
And if but encouraged will soon put an end 
To that giant, whose friendships are rare. 



77 



''If You Please" is a Fairy whom all of us 

know 
Will succeed, where ''Get Out of My Way'' 
Leads on to a quarrel, perhaps to a blow. 
So encourage this Fairy to stay ; 

And "Plain Common Sense" is the best, I 

confess. 
When ' ' You Don 't Dare ' ' is challenging you — 
But I've told you enough of the Fairies I 

guess 
To make you believe in them too. 



cpcpcp 



78 



WEAVERS ALL. 

To do the very best we can, 
And always to be trying 
To do a little better — then 
To crown it all by dying* ! 

It matters not how much we do 

Of work that life may give ns, 

There's always more, when we are through 

For all those who outlive us. 

The work the world contains in store 
Can be comx:)leted never, 
But we are given more and more 
To test our best endeavor. 

Is all of this to be for naught — 
This harvest we are gleaning? 
By every heart-beat we are taught 
That work has other meaning. 

Although I can but darkly see, 
I am content to leave it 
To Him who weaves Eternity 
And bids us help to weave it. 



79 




NATURE'S P^AN. 

cp 

Rhythmic is the universe; song its best 

expression. 
Everything has music of its own. 
Anthems of the ages gird the stars in their 

procession, 
Gleaming sentinels before the Throne. 
Land and ocean, hill and dale, plain and 

wood and river. 
Chant their choruses, majestic, grand. 
All are heard in Heaven by all life's Eternal 

Giver, 
Who alone can fully understand. 
Songs He hears from human hearts, save 

from those resistant, 
Guarding what they do not dare reveal ; 
Yet in each one's heart a thought, silent but 

insistent, 
Prompts us to confess what we conceal ; 
Urges to the final day ; and I ween is grateful 
When that day, releasing us from pain. 
Liberates our songs unsung from the pressure 

hateful 
That imprisoned each new-born refrain. 



80 



Ah, the songs our hearts might voice, were 

we like the river, 
Running true from source to ocean far, 
Open, fearless, unafraid, without cause to 

quiver 
When at last we cross the outer bar. 
Be assured the song released, winging on 

before us 
To the portal, where is noted all, 
There will add its melody to the swelling 

chorus 
Praising Him who heeds the sparrow's fall 



cjocpqo 



81 



FIDUS ACHATES. 

cp 

I have a tantalizing friend. 

But only death, I wot. 

Our foolish partnership can end — 

And even Death may not. 

Too oft' I know his actions show 

That he is not a friend, 

And yet I love the rascal so 

His motives I defend. 

Because of him I've often shed 

The bitterest of tears — 

But like most other tears, they're wed 

To laughter it appears. 

For him I fight with all my might. 

When he requires my aid ; 

And whether he be wrong or right 

The fight must still be made. 

I've bled for him full many times, 

And know I shall again ; 

I'm doomed to suffer for his crimes 

And share with him his pain ; 

Yet I'll defend him till the end 

Shall lay us on the shelf — 

So precious is this reckless friend — 

For he's MY OTHER SELF! 



82 



« 



"SHALL WE GATHEE AT THE 
RIVER?" 

■ op 

When June is young and the fields are filled 
With the fragrant breath of flowers, 
When the birds begin their nests to build 
In the midst of the leafy bowers. 
When the murmuring brooks their melodies 

add 
To the music of the spheres, 
Then a wee, small voice in my heart is glad. 
For it wakens, and perseveres; 

And these are the things it whispers : 

'^I shall hound you till you die; 

You shall never be free from my virgent plea ; 

You shall never escape my cry. 

I will follow you up to Heaven — 

Or your cosy seat by the fire — 

But you will rejoice to hear my voice. 

For I am j^our heart 's desire ! ' ' 

And these are the things I wonder: 
Does the voice ring true? Must I go. 
When the world's attune with each new June. 
To the crystal streams I know? 



83 



Am I so innoculated 

With the virus of ' ' rod and fly ' ' 

That I'm bound to say I shall feel that way 

Till the very day I die ? 

Will it follow me up to Heaven — 
Or my hotter place lower down? 
Will Peter grin if I smuggle in 
A trunk-rod under my gown? 

Do you think I shall be arrested 

If I tear up the Golden Street 

In a search for bait? Am I doomed by fate 

To be thus indiscreet? 

Are there trout in the streams of Heaven? 
In the Styx are there channel-cat? 
Will Charon permit me to fish a bit 
From the stern of his gruesome flat? 

These are but natural questions 

To all who have the disease 

That cannot be cured — that must be endured. 

All join in the ''Chorus," please! 



84 



SEEING RED. 

cp 

In the eddying pool, where the shadows cool 

Play over the rushing stream. 

The brook trout lies with drowsy eyes, 

Till he catches a fluttering gleam; 

Then a plunging dash and a lightning flash 

His sinuous grace reveal. 

As his freedom ends and the lithe rod bends 

To the whir of the spinning reel. 

A keen suspense — to muscles tense 

The taut line swishes and sings. 

Swerves and plays, trembles and sways. 

As he fights the fight of kings ; 

Then a dip of the net you will never forget. 

As he at your mercy lies : 

The battle is done, and you have won 

A monarch for your prize ! 



qocpcp 



85 



9 
THE OLD PROSPECTOR. * 

S 

A wanderer, searching for secrets 
That nature hides in her breast, 
Striving for keys to the mysteries 
That are locked in her treasure chest ; 
Sturdily hopeful ever, 
Trusting a fortunate turn 
Lies in his way and some lucky day 
Will give him a million to burn. 

He has followed trails of the Fairies ; 

For Will-o '-th '-wisps he has sought; 

Yet seldom to feel he has wasted the real 

For rainbows that cannot be caught. i 

His prize is all in the seeking : j 

It lies in the wandering far 

AVhere ranges lie that limit the sky, 

AVith Hope for his guiding star. 

There is nothing he has not ventured ; 

Nothing he has not dared. 

Dangers for him have given life vim, 

No matter how he has fared. 

Nor tropical wars and fevers, 

Nor Labrador's ice and cold. 

Could dim that star he has followed afar 

In his life-long search for gold. 

86 



To his star he is true, and his seasons 

Have flown like a fleeting dream, 

Yielding him naught but the final thought 

That life is but what it may seem. 

He cruises on in his rambles 

All over the luring world, 

And never will revSt from his hopeful quest 

Till the time when his sails are furled. 

cpcpcp 

THE OLD PROSPECTOR'S REPLY. 

cp 

He read the words I had written, 

And he said: ''You have painted true, 

For you knoAv me well ; but you do not tell 

]\Ian3^ things that are known to you ; 

And you fail to describe the treasure 

My luck has bestowed on me — 

Though you certainly know how much I owe 

To that part of my history. 

' ' Have you nothing to say of Freedom ? 
Is freedom a thing of worth? 
j\Iost of mankind are slaves, I find. 
To something or other on earth ; 



.87 



They are hedged about by their masters ; 
Their lives are seldom their own ; 
They stand or fall at some beck or call. 
With Freedom a thing unknown, 

''My freedom I risked in the desert. 

You found me there. It was well. 

But what does that count against the amount 

Of other things we could tell? 

We have threaded tight corners together 

On many a trail we have met, 

And you've fought my fight, whether wrong 

or right. 
Some things a man doesn't forget. 

''Which is how I lay claim to a treasure, 

The richest the gods bestow. 

Should I not rejoice that I have my choice 

Of the greatest blessings I know? 

Those mortals are poor with their millions 

AVho have lived and who never have kenned 

What is worth far more than their golden 

store : 
The love of a faithful friend." 



88 



WHY THE B. P. O. 1^. 

cp 

Because we teach men charity ; 
And teach them, too, to know 
That "charity" is not the fee 
Men thoughtlessly bestow; 

That charity of only pence 
Is not the sort that He, 
Who came the Lord to evidence 
And died upon the tree. 

That w^e a better life might live. 
Taught unto those He led. 
The charity He bade men give 
To other things w^as wed: 

The charity He sought to teach 
Was that of being kind; 
To help the drowning sinner reach 
The shore, his sin behind; 

To give the poor the needed pence. 
But grant them also then 
The charity of common sense 
And aid them to be men; 



89 



To cheer all those in need of cheer ; 
To comfort those in pain; 
To dry an erring brother's tear 
And bid him try again. 

That charity the Master tanght 

Is registered above; 

But all men's giving counts for naught, 

If given without love. 

This is the Brotherhood we strive 
To teach the world to know; 
This is the secret why we thrive 
And ever greater grow. 



90 



THOU AND I. 

cp 

Whj^ sorrow over what the past has writ, 
AVhen neither God nor man can alter it ? 
Is not the future still our own to write 
In letters large? Why waste it, bit by bit? 

Is he not weak who would his screed blot out, 
His craven heart a prey to fear and doubt ? 
The strong man writes, nor cares that others 

read. 
For he alone knows what it is about. 

And whether he has writ for good or ill 
No one can truly estimate, until 
The final reckoning rolls up the scroll : 
Then figure if you can, the total bill. 

"Wiseacres deem it theirs all scrolls to read : 
What they themselves have written, do they 

heed ? 
What reader of them reads between the lines 
And comprehends the motives for each deed ? 

If there be final reckoning for those 
Who fill their scrolls with verses to the close, 
When the Recording One has read it all 
What will His verdict be? Who knows? 
Who knows? 

91 



This lesson Omar taught to me today ; 
And listening, I heard the Potter say : 
'^The garden of our youth lives in our 

hearts. ' ' 
Shall they yield flowers — or weeds — our Pots 

of Ciay? 



92 



PARDS. 

cfc) 

No use fer a measly yaller dawg, Stranger ? 
Mebbe he 's measly yaller to ye, 
But he 's stuck t ' me in all kinds o ' danger ; 
He aint no measly yaller to me — 

T' me all his yaller hair is golden, 
Same's that faithful ole heart o' his, 
Th' which is a true, likewise a bold un — 
As mebbe ye'd 'low ef his dander riz. 

Ye kin kick 'im out'n yer way, an' he'll stan^ 

it- 
He wouldn 't r 'ar on his own account ; 
But jest lay yer hand on me, Stranger, an it 
Fotches 'im up like a catamount. 

Is that a scar on his breast ? Well, ruther ! 
An inch too fur t' th' right, by luck, 
Er he wouldn' be hyar — ner me nuther. 
That scar's proof o' my pardner's pluck. 

How kim he by it ? Happened this way, sir : 
Arter a year in th' Sangre Range, 
I struck a find — th' Bonanza Placer. 
Made up my mind as how, fer a change. 



93 




I'd lay low an' pan it out quiet — 
Warn't no neighbors t' bother jest then; 
Leadville finds had kicked up a riot, 
Stampedin' most o' th' other men. 

Hid at th' work, till I struck a big pocket. — 
How big? Over two thousan' o' dirt! 
Think I could hold then ? Jest like a rocket. 
Streaked it t' town, like a fool fer a spurt. 

Likewise, I reckon as how I had un — 
Lord! Didn't last long. Got in th' game 
Feller named Slyke put up. He was a bad 

un ; 
Should a had ''Slick," stead o' Slyke fer a 

name. 

Wile I was buckin' Slyke, back o' my shoul- 
der 
That was a Greaser. He had a phiz 
Just one glim o' w'ich made ye feel colder — 
Jest like a rattler's, them eyes o' his. 

Moved like a snake, too. I never twigged it 
Wen th' cuss follered me out o' thar 
T' th' fandango, whar I jigged it 
An ' blew in w 'at I had left at th ' bar. 



94 



Nex' day, arter I'd slep' off th' danza. 
Me an' Pard meandered back up th' slope. 
Thinkin' o' nothin' but th' Bonanza — 
'Taint no use. when yer dust 's gone, t ' mope. 

Got thar at bed-time, petered an' nappy — 
Leadin' a burro haint jest all fun — 
Eolled myself up in my big serape, 
Too dern tired t' look t' my gun. 

P'raps 'twas a couple o' hours I'd slep' fer: 
Thar was a growd an' a rush, an' a yell. 
Pard thar, who snoozed aside me, 'd lep' fer 
Suthin' 'r other — I couldn't quite tell. 

Fer. spite o' moonlight, thar in th' cabin 
It was a lot too dark to see — 
Only I saveyed ole Pard w^as a-nabbin' 
Suthin 'r other as wouldn't agree. 

I drawed my gun. but th ' dern thing buckled 
Back on th' trigger — thar Avas th' »sweep 
O' a knife — saw it flash — ^then th' feller 

knuckled 
Under an' fell, with Pard, in a heap. 



95 



Ole Pard whined, but he stuck right to it, 
Th' w'iles that critter squirmed an' choked — 
Jes' fer a minute — then Pard knew it 
AVas about over. He crawled an' poked 

That red nose o' his, hot an' drippin'. 
Inter my hand; an' then he keeled. 
Ef ye hev seed a loved one slippin' 
Inter th' shadder, ye know how I feeled. 

That's how it happened. Course 'twas th' 

Greaser. 
Pard pulled out, but th' Greaser was through, 
Reckon as how he'd a done fer me, sir, 
Ef ole Pard byar hadn't proved true. 

That's how he kim by the scar. I tell 'im 

That's made us ekal pards fer life. 

What did ye say, sir? How? Would T sell 

'im! 
Stranger, say: would ye sell yer wife? 



96 



THE DOUBLE INQUEST. 

cp 

He claimed his name was "Donolme," 
Though known as '^Broncho Bill." 
He shorely could ride bronc's a few, 
An' joyed t' show his skill. 

He joyed jokes, too — no doubt o' that, 
He joyed a joke immense. 
He joyed a joke — but joyed it at 
Th ' other chap 's expense ! 

Th' boys diskivered Bill could shoot — 
AVe'd heard he'd made a kill — 
An ' no one but a stray galoot 
Would cared t' laugh at Bill. 

Bill 'gaged t' bust a ''Outlaw" fer 
Th' boss o' th' correll, 
An' what proceeded t' occur 
Is shorely fierce t' tell. 

Bill roped an' throwed an' bridled 'im 
An' cinched th' bridle tight, 
Afore that squealin' bunch o 'sin 
Could loose his dynamite, 



97 



An ' Bill, th ' minit that he riz, 
AVas on his back — an ' say : 
I 'low as how ole Bill got his — 
Thar shore was hell t ' pay ! 

I've saw a lot o' buckin stock, 

Th' kind that squeal an' bawl. 

But that thar outlaw shore could knock 

Th' tar out of 'em all. 

So much was doin' fer a spell 

We couldn't rightly see 

W'ich part was bronc' an' w'ich part Bill. 

They mixed it up so free. 

Till Bill whipped out his arsenal 
An' let a bullet iiy — 
Th' boys quit larfin fer a spell — 
I reckon so did I. 

I guess Bill only thought o' course, 
T ' give th ' boys a scare ; 
Don't think he reckoned on th' boss — 
Fergot th' boss was there. 

What happened then warn't fault o' Bill's. 

He mought as well o' tried 

T' ride that ball his weapon spills. 

Th' way that outlaw skyed. 2 

98 [ 



We oiih'^ glimpsed a streak — a fiare 
O' hide an' hair— that's all— 
An' thar was Bill up in th' air. 
A)i' takin' time t' fall! 

An' when Bill landed on th' ground 
An" straightened up t' see. 
Thar warn't no outlaw t' be found — 
Ef he excepted me. 

"I reckon," sa^^s Bill, mighty slow, 
"I reckon better stop 
That dern fool larfin — 'r I'll show 
That summat else kin drop ! ' ' 

A stray galoot had jined th' crowd. 
He thought Bill Avas a bluff. 
An' kep' on larfin good an' loud — 
Jes' couldn't larf enough. 

You'll guess th' rest. Bill swore th' grippe 

Had given him a cough ; 

"That coughin' made his finger slip. 

An' so his gun went off'. 

Bill sprung that honored chestnut grand. 
It shore greased his skiddoo. 
AVe held a double inquest, and 
It took in Donohue. 

99 



Our verdict? What we did was state 
"Both naturally died. 
Th' stranger got hivS temptin' fate; 
Bill 's was a suicide ! " 



cpcpcp 



BE WARNED. 

cp 

A little nerve, no bigger than a thread; 

A .jumping pain, that cleaves in twain the 

head; 
A muss ; a fuss ; and worse, a curse ; a dread ; 
A sudden resolution ; hasty tread ; 
An easy chair; a clench — a wrench — a yell, 
A groan ; a moan ; a torture flown, and — 

well, 
A vacancy within no tongue can tell. 
Where half a dozen tongues, or more, might 

dwell ! 

But you'll not have to bear this ill contrary, 
If you consult a dentist like Doc. Crary. 



100 



'^JACK." 

A good-lookin ' miiel ? I guess, sir ! 
Thar ain't nary better I say. 
I don't mind a bit to confess, sir, 
Thar aint enough money to pay 

Fer a bill-o'-sale from his owner — 
Wich th' same's Jerry Peters; that's me. 
Some folks says a muel's a Joner — 
They's deceived — with a capital "D. 



7 J 



Wy sir, that thar muel — A kicker? 
Um — summat; all jack-muels is. 
Ef his front like his hind legs 'ud flicker 
He 'd win at th ' Frenchers ' Gran Priz. 

He's a whizzer at kickin's — an' bitin' — 
At both ends he's ekally smart; 
But it's only in play — thar's no spite in 
Th' make-up o' that critter's heart. 

Ye never hev been in th' tunnel. 

But I reckon ye savey a slope. 

Wen yer down it, it looks like a funnel. 

With a fur spark o' light, to give hope. 



101 




A thousand feet in, it's a melter — 
So hot that I wonder sometimes 
Wye the ore doesn't run like a smelter, 
Afore to th' surface it climbs. 

But t ' get back t ' Jack hyar, my muel : 
It was late in th ' season last year — 
Ef ye've talked with the boss mebbe you'll 
Have hearn of th' accident here. 

Thar was gas in th' tunnel. Th' drillers 
Had all gone down to th' shed; 
But I had been boovsin' at Miller's, 
An' nobody 'd told me, ner said 

That th' slope wasn't all right to work in. 
When th' time fer my shift kim aroun'. 
An' I wondered why Jack seemed ashirkin', 
Fer he seemed not to want t' go down. 

It was all right enough in th' level. 
But jest a piece down th' incline 
A puff o' gas kim, an' th' devil 
I thought had preempted th' mine. 



102 



I'd started t' give Jack a cussin' 

Wen th' gas struck — an' then, mighty queer, 

]\Iy head spun aroun ', with a buzzin ' 

An' a ringin' o' bells in my ear. 

cp 

Th' rest o' w'at happened 's a blank, sir; 
But that I am standin ' hyar now 
I reckon I've Jack hyar t' thank, sir — 
Ole Jack hyar — who loves me, I 'low. 

Th' boys said they hadn't suspected 
As I had gone in, till they see 
Ole Jack comin' out, an' detected 
He was draggin' o' suthin. 'Twas me, 

An' his teeth was so luckily grippin' 

That skeercely a scar remains now 

Whar Jack my right shoulder w^as nippin' — 

But a deep mark's inside me, I 'low. 

AA^'ich is why I repeats that his owner 
With them folks kin never agree 
Wat holds that a muel's a Joner — 
They's deceived, with a capital "D." 



103 



PLAYING THE GAME. 

cp 

"When a player has gone the whole limit — 
Bet his whole pile on one card and lost — 
Is it time for him then to pick up his pen 
And figure on what it has cost? 

What matter the dead past's losses? 
Let the dead past bury its dead. 
Keep a stiff upper lip and stick to the ship. 
And you yet may win out ahead. 

There is no such a word as ' ' Failure, ' ' 

No matter how often he's tricked, 

For the man who will meet with a smile each 

defeat 
And will never admit that he's licked. 

So hitch up your old suspender; 

Take another hard cinch on your belt ; 

Throw open your vest and stick out your 

chest 
And never let on what you've felt. 

Keep 3^our tail up over the dashboard 
And your shoulder square in the hame. 
No matter the load, just stick to the road 
And never give up the game. 



104 



For every lane has a turning. 

And the wheel of fortune has, too; 

And some day 3'Ou'll find that the brake won't 

bind 
And the derned thing will spin for you. 



cpcpcp 



DEATH VALLEY. 

cp 

A still blue sky, a white dust plain, 

A shimmer of grey mesquite ; 

Month in, month out, not a drop of rain 

To temper the deadly heat. 

Dry bones their ghastly story tell. 

Even the cactus die. 

Scorching, blistering, shrivelling Hell: 

Death Valley in July! 



105 



'^BAKINS." 

cp 

He was ornary — just a cayuse 

That had suffered all kinds of abuse. 

With a saddle-gall sore and with spavins 

galore, 
Yet he'd run like a wild-fire when loose. 
His expression resembled a moose, 
With his long upper lip so profuse, 
And the whites of his eyes would express his 

surprise 
When I ventured to make him of use. 

But I labored : that old saddle-gall 
And those spavins were better by Fall, 
And by just being kind I induced him 'to mind 
And to come on a run at my call ; 
For he learned that I never would maul 
Nor abuse him. He'd come from his stall 
And, though crippled, he'd work like a regu- 
lar Turk. 
I imagine he loved me, that's all. 



106 



A KLONDYKE EPITAPH. 

cp 

A chap named Sommers lies below — 
Leastwise, he said that was his name. 
He struck the camp a month ago — 
And started out to thaw the same. 
He started out "to make it hot," 
Which might been welcomed later on 
When mercury, as like as not, 
Won't have no elevator on. 
He Avas a little premachoor, 
That 's all ; for in the heat of it 
He .jumped a claim — likewise, dead sure, 
He got about six feet of it. 

cpcpcp 

THE YUKON VERSION. 

cp 

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow; 

But likewise, don't forget 

That you must hustle here below 

Or never win a bet. 

Don't leave the flow to anyone. 

For blessings flow by fits: 

They hit the hustling son-of-a-gun, 

But miss the man who quits. 

107 



THE STREAM. 

cp 

Far aloft on the sleeping mount, 

Where the world's top woos the sky, 

A tiny spring uplifts, its source 

A silent mystery. 

Clear and pure are the crystal depths 

From which it ventures forth, 

Purged of the hidden fires below 

Whose passion gave it birth. 

Timidly it creeps beyond 

The sheltering rocks on high 

And plays along, through moss and fern, 

To its own sweet lullaby. 

Down and down, and ever down. 

With playmates now and then 

Joining it in its merry romp 

Through vale and wooded glen; 

Down through the widening ravine 

To the canyon wild and deep, 

Whose rugged boulders it avoids 

With many a laughing leap ; 1 

Down and down, and ever down, 

Yet singing as it goes. 

Urged by its longing restlessly 

To haste where the river flows; 



» 



I 



108 



Down and down and ever down, 

To the river, flowing fast. 

And the moss and fern, the vale and glen, 

And the canyon wild are passed. 

The work of the world is now to do, 

Its burdens great to bear ; 

The shores may still be beautiful, 

But the river does not care; 

Doggedly it flows along 

And heeds not what may be, 

Intent on its laboring journey down 

To the calm of the distant sea. 

Spirit of Ch ildh ood : ]\Iark you well 
Your beautiful moss and fern ; 
For the stream of life flows on and on, 
And will never more return. 

Spirit of Boyhood'. Mark you well 
Your beautiful vale and glen ; 
For the stream of life flows on and on, 
And will never return again. 

Spirit of Manliood : ]\Iark you well 
The work of the world that 's yours ; 
For the stream of life flows on and on, 
And only its work endures ! 



109 



WITHOUT APPEAL. 

cp 

Song of the Winds: I blow 

As the laWvS of Nature compel ; 

A chilling blast from the frozen North, 

Or a hot simoon from Hell. 

The world has been my dwelling-place 

And plaything the cycles through ; 

But work or play, 'tis the same to me — 

I do what I have to do. 

Song of the Sea: I flow 

As the ]\Ioon and the Wind command — 

With laughing ripples I kiss the shore, > 

Or rage with a fury grand. ,i 

Men may compel both mountain and plain — 

The land is their own to hew — 

But they cannot harness my furious strength ; 

I do what I have to do. • 

Song of the Day: I come 

To the world with a message of cheer. 

T bring to all the blessings of health. 

Of hope, of relief from fear. 

I obey no one but the Sun, 

To whom I am constant and true. 

If men misuse me, I'm not to blame — 

I do what I have to do. 



110 



Song of the Night: I bring 
To weary and 'tired ones rest. 
To those who have found the day unkind 
I am welcome indeed, and blessed. 
Some deem me too short, or too long. 
But that rests with your point of view. 
I had no part in framing that; 
I do what I have to do. 

All nature obeys fixed laws, 
Save atoms that recognize none 
And who, in their folly, disobey. 
And must reap what they have sown. 



4^- 



111 



BY THE SEA. 

cp 

High on the cliff, where the golden moon 
Hangs like God's sentinel m the sky. 
There is a cot; and the breakers croon 
To a child about to die. 

This is the song the breakers sing, 
For the wind 'to bear to the child above : 
''Life at best, is a passing thing, 
But Heaven is endless love." 

The waves are still and the winds are still. 
A childless mother weeps o'er her dead! 
The silent moon, from the darkened hill, 
With the soul of the child has fled. 



112 



A PARABLE. 

cp 

In Paradise an Angel found one day 
A soul newborn to happiness, that seemed 
To lack perfected bliss. Upon it lay 
A shade of sadness. Quoth the Angel, ' ' Say 
If more than this of joy on earth you 
dreamed ? ' ' 

The troubled soul looked up, and trembling, 

spake : 
' ' 'Tis but a mother 's heart that yearns for 

one 
On earth — my child — to whom each day I 

take 
My pilgrimage, and all endeavor make 
That he the sinful ways of life may shun. 

' ' And this my sorrow : that he cannot know 
The anxious watch my loving spirit keeps, 
And I, alas, may never tell him so — 
May never speak a loving word, to show 
The way he may avoid the nether deeps." 



113 



The Angel smiled: ''When next to earth you 

wing, 
Cause him 'to read of Lazarus, to whom 
The Rich Man prayed with like desire. 'Twill 

bring 
This thought, perchance : If souls enduring 

doom 
To care so tender of the living cling. 
How greater then must be the tender care 
Which souls in Heaven toward their loved 

ones bear!" 



cpcpcp 



114 



TO FIT A CLOWN. 

cp 

One Christmas Eve, a time most clear 
To all the lovers of good cheer, 
A fool there was who entered in 
To Paradise, w4th thought to win 
A moiety of such happiness 
As only fools hope to possess. 
When he had passed the portals wide 
He sought for one to be his guide, 
That he might reap the fullest share 
Of joys he thought to harvest there ; 
And, as if answering his thought, 
A passing glimpse of one he caught 
Who danced along the sunlit way 
With lilting song and laughter gay. 

''Hold, neighbor; wait for me!" he cried. 
The other paused, and when he spied 
The fool, he shook with merriment 
Until his very breath was spent ; 
Whereat the fool was much annoyed 
And sought the other to avoid. 
But uselessly — the other clung 
And in his ear these verses sung : 



115 



"Dear fool — for dear you are to me, 

As I will shortly be to thee. 

Pray give me just one reason why 

I should not laugh. Would have me cry 

And veil the sun with melancholy? 

Nay, that I '11 not ; for I am Folly, 

Dear to the heart of every fool, 

And laughter is my only rule. 

AA^ith glee I rule this wide domain. 

I laugh at woe; I laugh at pain. 

At all men reap of joy I laugh — 

]\line is the kernel, theirs the chaff ; 

For though they reap and glean with care, 

I take their threshing for my share. 

And yet it does but just suffice 

To furnish out my Paradise. 

For this, my Paradise, is wide : 

Here all the dreams of earth abide, 

Decked out in such a wondrous way 

That those who see them often stay j 

And while away their span of life 4 

Far from the world of work and strife. ! 

Here also every mortal's stored 

Of wishes quite a handsome hoard — * 

Yet never is the one content ' 

Who treasures them till life is spent, 

But burns his little lamp away — 

His lamp of life — both night and day, 



116 



I 



Feeding its wick with futile hope 

That wishes realized may ope' 

The magic door to happiness; 

Nor will he, while he lives, confess 

That he has reaped a single doubt, 

Until his lamp is spluttering out. 

Ah, then he finds the magic door 

A painted wall ; and nothing more ! 

Here, too, I keep a pair of wings 

That hither all men's money brings — 

You've heard that riches fly away? 

I'll show you how, and why, today. 

I've many other servants too, 

The busiest you ever knew. 

Dan Cupid is about the best; 

His aim is sure, his arrow blest 

With such a wondrous tip of folly 

No wonder Cupid's always .jolly. 

Another one is Avarice : 

Many a mortal fool I 'd miss. 

Had not his father felt the spell 

That Avarice can weave so well. 

Of course Extravagance is here — 

Although by fools he's called 'Good Cheer;' 

And also I've a wondrous vine 

That furnishes my fools with wine — 

T'will make a lion of an ass. 

To fight a foe, or woo a lass. 

117 



Have I no more ? Aye, many more ; 

'Twould take too long to glance them o'er. 

I haven't time to name them all; 

So just one more : This will I call 

As mortals do; their nomenclature 

Has dubbed this servant 'Human Nature. 

For every error he'll produce 

An excellent well writ excuse, 

Like this: ^Although he's much to rue, 

liememher you are human, too; 

Who knoics but, were you placed as he, 

You might as great a sinner he!' " 

All this, and more, the poor fool heard, 

Yet answered not a single word; 

But as they passed along the way. 

They chanced upon a bower to stray 

That held the vision passing fair 

For which the fool had ventured there. 

Straightway he started in pursuit; 

And Folly, with a grave salute, 

Fell back a pace ; yet danced along 

With twinkling eyes and mocking song — 

For, ever as the other sped 

The luring vision quicker fled. 

Leading him over hill and plain. 

Through brake and brier and back again: 



118 



And when at last he thonght he neared 
His prize, the vision disappeared ! 

Fainting and sick at heart, he wept ; 
And snickering Folly backward crept 
To where he might indulge his glee 
And set his cabined laughter free; 
For well the Kingly Folly knew 
That all are myths that men pursue ; 
That ardent hopes are but a snare 
To capture mortals unaware; 
That life is but a shimmering gown 
Of cobwebs, wove to fit a clown. 



119 




THE GATE THAT LURES. ; 

A wanderer came to a gate of pearl I 

On a way both wide and bright. 

Where all who ventured thought to win 

The gift of a strange delight. 

The wanderer paused by the open gate 
To steal a glance within ; i 

But all he saw was a mirror there ! 

Reflecting half a sin. 

Half a sin ; for the other half 

The past had not lain bare ; i 

The future held the other half | 

That might be his to wear. 4 

And, half in doubt, the wanderer stood ^ 

Before his mirrored heart. 

Where the half a sin, and more, was shown ; 

For the glass, with mystic art, | 

Revealed a smile that was half a tear, ! 

And a tear that was half a moan. 

The smile was his, but the tear, he knew 

Was only half his own. 



120 



Not alone was the wanderer. 
Others were crowding through 
The open gate, with never a thought 
Of the mirror all might view. 

AA^ha't of the ones who hesitate ? 
Shall the mirror be for naught? 
Or will they blot, with the half a tear. 
The half a sin they've wrought? 



rbcbcn 



121 



EASTER (a-la-mode.) 

The rich church opens wide its doors 
Through which a stylish pageant pours 
Of women clad in fine array 
Of rustling silks and bonnets gay, 
And men who, when the pastor prays, 
But drop their heads and tioorward gaze, 
Nor bend a knee lest that should mar 
Their trousers' perpendicular. 

In whispered murmurs each to each, 
They criticise the pastor's speech. 
The utterances of the choir, 
Each worthy neighbor's rich attire, 
The flowers that deck the altar and 
Such scandal as may come to hand ; 
But when the plate at length is passed, 
Ah, then the tongues are wagging fast : 
'''Tis wonderful how so and so. 
With all that he is known to owe, 
Can drop a glittering gold-piece in — 
Such ostentation is a sin ! 
Ha ! Do you note how Mistress Mean, 
Whose fortune is a million clean. 
But one small piece of silver gave? 
Such doling would disgrace a slave!" 

122 



All this, and more in equal vein, 

Is gossipped o'er and o'er again, 

Until the Benediction notes 

The time for donning overcoats 

And shoulder-capes, and gloves, and tiles, 

And all that Fashion's Court beguiles. 

You think that this is all? Oh, no; 
'Tis but the prelude to the show 
That now the Avenue will thread 
With slow and duly measured tread — 
For all the world is now on view 
Upon the luring avenue. 
And hats are raised, and compliments 
Are passed upon the day 's events : 

"Why, So-and-so, how do you do? 
'Twas very generous of you — 
Ah, Master Worldly, we'd a fear 
That we might fail to meet you here — 
And how is Mistress Mean ? No doubt 
That prosy sermon tired you out ; 
But then you're looking — Pardon me — 
So glad to see you. Dominie, 
Your sermon was the very best — 
We heard it with such interest!" 



123 



At home at length to talk it o'er 
And vote it all a beastly bore ; 
On courses five or six to dine. 
Each with its complement of wine, 
And the ensuing lethargy 
To sleep away, in time for tea ! 

Oh, IMother Nature : Lead my feet 
Out to thy pastures fair and sweet, 
Where birds are singing hymns of praise, 
And every budding branch betrays 
Its gratitude to Him on high 
Who looks upon them from the sky ; 
And whom they win, with joyous art. 
To still maintain a gracious heart, 
And overlook, (none other can,) 
The rank hypocrisy of Man. 



I 

I; 



124 



HIS CROWNING SIN. 

cp 

The Devil stood by the rich man's bed. 
"You have one minute, no more!" he said, 
And he chuckled merrily under his breath, 
''One minute! Prepare for the Angel of 
Death!" 

The rich man opened his glassy eyes. 

"Are you not," he asked, "the Father of 

Lies?" 
The Devil bowed low: "I humbly own 
IMen called me so, until you were known." 

The rich man groaned. "Nor is that all," 
Continued the Devil; "great and small 
The King of Cheats acknowledged me— 
Until you taught them differently. 

"Not," he added, with gracious wit, 
"Not that I feel put out a bit. 
Indeed, I am grateful, friend, to you, 
And if I could, I Avould prove it, too." 

The rich man's eyes, with a sudden thought. 
Grew bright, and he said, "I'm sure you 

ought, 
If that is so, to grant me a day- 
Just one day more — it is all I pray." 

125 



*'I see," said the Devil; ''you want until 
You may have the time to write your will. 
To give you a day I have not the power. 
But I '11 do what I can : you may have an 
hour. ' ' 

Gone was the Devil. The rich man then 
With trembling fingers grasped his pen; 
Over the paper it travelled fast 
And the rich man's will was finished at last. 

"There!" said the rich man, as he signed, 
"The Devil, when he returns, will find, 
Despite his mortgage upon my past. 
That I have cheated him, too, at last." 

"Indeed?" The rich man looked around 
And close by his side the Devil he found. 
His Majesty chuckled: "Your will I've read, 
And I couldn 't have drawn it better ! " he 
said. , 

"But look!" cried the rich man: "I have 

willed 
All of my millions a church to build ! ' ' 
"Of all my agents," the Devil confessed, 
"A millionaire's church, mv friend, is best." 



126 



WANNAGAN. 

cp 

This is the song of the Lumber-Jack, 

Of the thing of muscle and bone 

That wars with the cold in the forests old 

And batters those forests into gold 

To furnish the Lumber- King's throne. 

This is the song of the Lumber- Jack, 

Of the thing of labor and sweat 

In the ice and snow of forty below. 

That the Lumber-King may warm in the glow 

Of the gold it aids him to get. 

This is the song of the Lumber-Jack, 
Who toils through the winters long 
For a dollar and thirty- four cents a day. 
That he hopes to get — till he calls for his pay 
And finds that he gets but a song! 

The winters are cruelly hard and long 

AVhere the pine and tamarack grow, 

And the muskeg swamps spread out for miles 

And miles wherever you go ; 

'Tis the ugliest land beneath the sun, 

A limitless, treacherous bog; 

But friendly and fair when you compare 

Its owner, the Timber-Hog. 

127 



He sits in his office, puffs his cigar, 

And plans on waj^s to increase 

His Wannagan profits; and railway fares 

Are always prolific of fleece ; 

For they grow, in the twinkling of an eye. 

From the legal tariff per mile, 

On the Wannagan bill, which the camp-clerks 

fill. 
To a figure that makes him smile; 

And the railway fares are a bagatelle, 
Compared to the job-lot score 
Of things that the lumberjack must have 
And must buy from the Wannagan Store. 
The Dutchman, who bragged of his ''one per 

cent," 
Would hang his bald head in shame 
If he could but look at the Wannagan book 
And see how they work the game. 



To W. N. S. L : 
Dear Chum of Mine : Compose a song — 
A dissonance, so pure 
That it will typify the wrong 
Our Lumber-Jacks endure. 
No harmonies of sound will do 
For such a song as ithis ; 
It must be discords, through and through. 
That crash, and writhe, and hiss! 

128 



THE CROSS-ROADS. 

A "World Drama. 

cp * 

The Traveler: 
AVhen I come to the Cross-roads, which way 

shall I turn ? 
Do I know? 

:\rust I leave it entirely to fortune to learn 
Where to go ? 
Shall I linger and ponder, while others rush 

past ; 
Or shall I push onward, as blindly and fast, 
On the chance that kind fortune may lead me 

at last 
AVhere the streams of felicity iiow ? 
There are bars to both roads, at which all 

must pay toll, 
So they say. 
And some pay with a life, others pay with a 

soul. 
3Iust all pay ? 
^lany pay, it is said, with the thing valued 

most, 
But some pay with a song and some pay with 

a toast; 
And many laugh ''Charge it!" But these 

are a host 

129 



Who may have most to reckon some day ! 
AA^ithoiit chart, guide, nor compass, though, 

how can one tell ? 
No one can. 
Which road leads to Heaven, and which one 

to Hell? 
Foolish man ! 
Why not try to believe — why continue to 

doubt? 
Did the Christ really know when he pictured 

the route? 
They say that to die's the one way to find 

out, 
Which is not the most comforting plan. 
HE left for all messages marking the place 
Good and plain, 

But the wear of the centuries nearly efface 
What remain ; 

It is hopeless to try to decipher the scroll ; 
So much have the many years taken in toll. 
They have left but a blur of the once perfect 

whole, — 
AVhich will never be written again. 
The grim humor is that both Cross-roads may 

go. 
Like as not, 

To the one destination, where all here below 
Is forgot. 

130 



One may lead through rough places, one go 

round-a-bout, 
But there's no turning back, once you've 

chosen your route. 
I can hope for no method to ever find out 
Till I finish my journey — and rot ! 

The Devil, (sotto voce) 

Just so ! When they come to the Cross-roads, 

each one 
For himself: 

Some choose the gilt pavement. 
And madly they run 
After pelf; 
And some choose the cobbles that lead toward 

the hills. 
None knows which is wisest, for each has his 

ills; 
And I? Ha! I chuckle — and make out 

their bills 
And file them awav on my shelf! 



131 



THE SHIRKER. 

qo 

What are all the myriads of entities abound- 
ing? 

You are one and I am one, each of us a grain — 

]\Iicrobes of the Infinite — mysteries confound- 
ing; 

Are we what we think we are, or are we all 
insane ? 

Is this life reality — life forever linking 
Worry, doubt, anxiety, trouble, sorrow, pain ? 
Do we really exist, or is it all in thinking? 
Are the lives of all of UvS figments of the 
brain? 

Tell me what the Ego is — and where situated ? 
How does it originate? What does it attain? 
When it takes its final flight, with existence 

sated, 
Will the efforts it has made prove entirely 

vain ? 



132 



These are just a very few of the puzzling 
queries 

That are always haunting me, and I cannot 
gain 

Answers that will satisfy any of the series, 

But am left to wondering. Will the end ex- 
plain "? 

cpcpciD 



THE AVORKER. 

cp 

God is! Of that we are as sure 

As that we do exist; 

And with that fact I rest secure, 

And cancel all the list 

Of idle questions that you ask. 

And ask, and ask in vain. 

Do we but well our earthly task, 

God's answer will be plain. 



133 



YOU FIND WHAT YOU SEEK. 



cp 



The Atheist'. 
A whir of wings ; two shadows swiftly pass ; 
I see a sparrow fall, no more to rise. 
A hawk soars off, in its steel claw^s a mass 
Of writhing agony — its morning prize ! 

Sneh are the histories that mark the plan 
Of savage Nature through the field of life : 
For every living thing, including man. 
To live is but to war — a constant strife. 

Ts there a God who marks the sparrow 's fall ? 
Then He must be a God whom tortures 

pleavse ; 
By fear alone to govern, if at all, 
You cowards who beseech Him on your knees. 

Think you that there could be a living God, 
Omnipotent, Eternal, Loving, Great, 
Who would permit His creatures to be trod 
Beneath this awful Juggernaut of Fate? 

He must be One who finds His joy in pain. 
]\Iephisto must be He who rules it all. 
And God, like me, a puppet in His train, 
Who marks, but cannot stav, the sparrow's 
fall. 

134 



The Deist : 

God bears with your crazed, paganistic mind, 
Which, in the grandest music of the spheres, 
To all of Heaven's blessings deaf and blind. 
Hears naught, sees naught but pessimistic 
fears. 

Who has no soul for poetry or song — 
AVho in the rose can only see the thorn — 
Who helps to fill the world with cruel wrong — 
Better for him if he had not been born. 

And yet God gives to all the chance to mend ; 
To find our souls ; to teach our hearts to love ; 
To hear ; to see ; our idle fears to end ; 
To realize our gifts from Him above. 

God's mercies manifold surround us all; 
And even you, misguided one, should see 
His tender care embraces great and small — 
Else God M^ould not permit your kind to be. 



135 



THE SEARCH FOR FAITH. 

dp 

A child once strayed by a boundless sea, 
Watching the tall ships ply, 
With white wings charming the breezes free 
That whispered his lullaby. 
The tall ships drifted away to the east, 
Where the hopes of childhood lie ; 
Their high masts wore, as the breeze in- 
creased, 
To a line on the distant sky. 

A youth remained, where the child had been, 

With longings vague in his breast 

For something his youth had never seen. 

Though it sang on the billow's crest. 

A ship came up from the purple main 

And charmed his eager quest. 

But his ardent hope proved all in vain ; 

It faded into the west. 

A man stood watching the billows break, { 

Where the youth had been before, 
And far away lay the fading wake 
Of a ship that came no more. 



136 



He narrowly scanned the east and west 
In search of a bidden prore, 
Bnt nothing answered his heart's behest 
Save the breakers' mocking roar. 

Palsied and faint, an old man bent, 

AA^ith wearied eyes downcast, 

Grasping the staff whereon he leant 

To ponder his wasted past ; 

And there at length, beneath the rays 

Of his setting sun, a mast. 

The Cross of Christ, transfixed his gaze 

His ship was sighted at last ! 



137 



GRIGGSBY. 

By a "Volunteer." 

cp 

Clad with giant elms, the hillside 
Under shadow deep reposes, 
And the breeze is faintly laden 
AVith a perfume as of roses; 

Through the rustling green, the sunlight 
Bears a wealth of silver flashes 
From the scintillating river. 
Where against the rocks it dashes; 

In the leafy boughs, a robin, 
By the morning brightness bidden, 
Turns to wordless song the rapture 
In his scarlet bosom hidden ; 

Comes the low of distant cattle. 
And the wild bee's fitful droning; 
Far away, and faint, the church-bells 
Lazily their chimes are toning. 

Thus doth fancy paint the picture 
From the colors of my yearning, 
With the brush of recollection 
Back to Griggsby ever turning; 



138 



Back to Griggsby ever turning 
Till, the term of service over, 
May be realized the dreaming 
And the longing of the rover ; 

May be given him the rapture 
Of the robin in its homing; 
May be given him the ending, 
And the mending, of his roaming. 



^ 



139 



AT aRIGGSBY. 

cp 

On the village street, where the cross-roads 

meet, 
The village church is standing, 
From its belfry small peals the Christmas 

call 
To the folk of Griggsby landing. 

Through the open door the lamp-lights pour 
A golden scintillation : 
A beacon bright in the deepening night 
To the gathering congregation. 

I 
In ' ' Sunday-best ' ' each one is dressed 
And, with that knowledge laden, 
Each man and lad finds a burden sad. | 

Not so the wife or maiden: ^ 

They do not share the conscious air 

With which the men are quaking; 

Their women's wit has formed to fit 

Their gowns of their own making. } 

Gems, too, they wear — unprized, yet rare : ; 

Bright eyes, to care unknowing. 
And pearls agleam rose-lips between, 
And cheeks with rich health glowing. 

140 



The village squire, who leads the choir, 
AVith high voice starts the singing 
Of the opening hymn, and is joined with vim 
That sets the white walls ringing. 

Then the prayer for, first, all souls accurst 

By sin ; for those in danger ; 

For the strong ; the weak ; the proud ; the 

meek ; 
For friend ; for foe ; for stranger ; 

For the rich ; the great ; the Church : the 

State — 
But why enumerate them? 
For many eyes close in a stolen doz>^ 
Ere the prayer can fully state them. 

Yet some have found their pulses bound 
Before the prayer has ended — 
(Though needs confess, not by its stress 
Of eloquence expended!) 

For watchful eyes the means devise 

To sly exchange of glances 

From lads and maids, and one small jade's 

AVith mirth unseemlv dances. 



141 



But note her when the prayer's ''Amen" 
Is said : demure, she rises. 
With eyes downbent and gaze intent 
Upon a gift she prizes. 

'Tis leather-bound, with corners round. 
Its small fly-leaf secreting 
An added text, with this annexed: 
' ' To Mollie, Christmas Greeting. ' ' 

She holds it so that he may know, 
Sly minx, that she is reading 
The words he wrote and dared to quote. 
Will she answer to his pleading? 

The pages turn. He hoped 'twould earn 
A glance ; but 'tis denied him. 
Indeed, there lies within her eyes 
No hint of aught to guide him. 

The hymns are through ; the sermon too ; 
The Benediction's spoken; 
And still he waits, while hope abates ; 
And still she gives no token. 

Restraint is o'er, and toward the door 
The congregation's turning. 
He waits awhile beside the aisle 
With blushing ears and burning; 



142 ; 

I 



But on his brow a frown that now 
Bespeaks determination 
To guard the aisles and brave the smiles 
Of all the congregaticn. 

They crowd to hear, as she draws near, 
His bashful spoken greeting: 
''I've waited here — a 'most a year — 
To see you home from meeting ! ' ' 

To crown his plight, she laughs outright ; 
But then, with swift contrition. 
Beneath his arm she slips a warm 
Soft pledge of her decision. 

And scarlet now his frowning brow; 
But what cares he for titters? 
She's filled for him his cup abrim 
And turned to sweet its bitters. 

Through starlit night, o'er pastures white 
With virgin snow, beside her 
He takes his way ; and who shall stay 
His right to guard and guide her? 



143 



From far and near the chimes they hear 
Of merry sleigh-hells ringing. 
And in his heart their echoes start 
A wordless anthem singing. 

Would that the way before them lay 
A league — or further, even. 
Too short, alas, the path they pass, 
Each step of which seems Heaven. 

Her door at length, nor found the strength 

To voice his heart's dumb yearning. , 

He says, '^ Goodnight," in bashful plight, I 

And from her door he 's turning ; ^ 

i 

But ah, the arts that love imparts! j 

She quickly bids him enter » 

"To warm himself." Straight then the elf 

Leads to the "best-room's" center, :; 

Where, overhead, the white and red 
Of mistletoe and holly 
Bestow at length his missing strength : 
He claims a kiss — and iMollv ! 



144 



GRAINE D 'AMOUR. 

God wills the wandering wind to blow; 
And the hearts of men and M^omen, I trow, 
Are like seeds the winds are blowing : 
Some are barren, and some are bruised, 
And some are husbanded, yet not used, 
And many not worth the sowing; 
But when good seeds in a desert are found 
And the wild wind wafts them to fallow 

ground. 
Can the seeds be blamed for growing ? 



cpcpcp 

LOVE'S PRAYER. 

cp 

The road to Paradise lies straight before; 
Thy dear hands hold the key to it, and more ; 
One glimpse of it thine eyes have given me : 
Ah, Love, wouldst thou but open wide the 
door ! 



145 



THE CHARM. 

'Tis not thy fair, soft, Titian hair. 
Though that is passing bright ; 
'Tis not thy smile, that might beguile 
And change to day the night ; 
'Tis not thy eyes, though dear I prize 
The sunshine that they dart. 
These but requite a dearer light : 
The lightness of thy heart! 

cpcpap 

MY YACHTING GIRL. 

cp 

My yachting girl, with cheeks aglow. 
Now loiters where the breezes blow. 
With witching charms that ne 'er before 
Were equalled on the sea or shore, 
Each dainty ringlet in distress 
Receives the ardent wind 's caress : 
He steals upon her unawares 
To seize a kiss, and naught he cares 
How prettily the maid may frown — 
The upstart will not be put down. 
A year of life I 'd gladly pay 
If I the wind might be today! 

146 



NOT THE HUSK, BUT THE CORN. 

New wine in old bottles, you all will agree, 
Is welcome to no one ; yet why should this be ? 

Priscilla, the witch, as her grandmother 
dressed. 

Looks just as bewitching, it must be con- 
fessed. 

It isn't the bottle; it isn't the dress: 
'Tis the age of the contents ; no more and no 
less; 

And if the wine's old, and the maid young 

and free. 
We care not a rap what their wrappings may 

be! 



147 



A FAIR COQUETTE. 

She 's quite demure, and I am .sure 
A maid more innocent, 
More free from guile and heartless wil( 
Alluring charms ne'er bent 

To win a heart by every art 
That's to a maiden known; 
Yet while so good a maiden should 
Be loathe a fault to own, 

She heartlessly coquettes with me. 
Nor does it her abash 
When I declare her artful snare 
Is set for love of cash. 

She's but amused whene'er accused 
Of flirting out of reason — 
That is a sin she glories in 
Throughout the Church-Fair season ! 



i 



148 



THE CHORUS GIRL. 

cp 

The orchestra chairs we buy each night, 

No matter what the opera be ; 

To the ^tars who appear we're indifferent 

qnite, 
('Tis none of them that we care to see,) 
But come to the theater, and we 
AA^ill presently see before us 
The star of the opera, you'll agree: 
A nameless girl in the chorus. 

Her gown is a web of fleecy white 
That falls a trifle below the knee. 
Her feet are tiny, her figure slight, 
And her curly golden locks are free ; 
She carols her notes with a roguish glee 
And a kick and a wink that floor us. 
Oh the star of the opera is she, 
A nameless girl in the chorus. 

We've sent her many a note polite. 

And we would be happy should fate decree 

That only her surly manager might 

Be tempted to answer our constant plea ; 



149 



But ueveF a syllable answers he 
And the door-keepers all ignore us 
The star of the opera's still to me 
A nameless girl in the chorus. 



L' envoi: 

Prince, if you have to her name the key 
Impart it — to joy restore UvS — 
By naming the star of our jubilee, 
A nameless girl in the chorus ! 



cpcfocb 



150 



BEATRICE. 

[Apologizing to the shade of D.] 

cp 

She was beautiful — if night, 
Utter dark, without one star. 
Motionless and silent, might 
Beautj^'s mantle seem to wear. 

She was good — if it suffice 
To bestow an alms of gold 
AVithout thought of sacrifice. 
With a hand, sans pity, cold. 

She was thoughtful — if a stream. 
With its babbling cadence low, 
Alight a sentient being seem, 
Alight be said a thought to know. 

She was prayerful — if eyes 
Beautiful as she was fair, 
Soulful, azure as the skies, 
Alight be said to utter prayer. 

She, who all of life mistook — 

She who never lived, is dead. 

From her hand has dropped the book 

That she held, but never read. 

15] 



THE MONK. 

cp 

He may be fat or he may be lean ; 

He may be forty, or twenty; 

And his unctions smile or satisfied mien 

May counterfeit peace or plenty ; 

He may fast on roots of Latin or Greek, 
Or may feast upon legs of mutton, 
And never a wrinkle may mar his cheek, 
Though ascetic he be, or glutton ; 

And many a time he may heave a sigh 
At the sound of a sinner's laughter; 
But the sorrowful, pitying glance of his eye 
Doesn't presage a thought of hereafter, 

For down in the depths of his lonely soul 
He envies the lucky sinner 
Who can dream in peace of a heavenly goal 
While his wife is cooking his dinner; 

And as he makes himself ready for bed 

And broods o'er a broken suspender, 

-He vows that a man should be happy though 

wed 
To even a Witch of Endor. 

152 



NOT A PARADOX. 

cp 

Though Phyllis' smiles are wondrous bright, 
They do not change to day the night, 
Nor cast the sunshine into shade. 
For me the world is darker made 
By Phyllis' smiles. 

Though I, who long to make her mine, 
Admit her smiles to be divine, 
I cannot bear her smiles to see — 
You've guessed the reason? 'Tis at me 
That Phyllis smiles ! 

op ch dp 
EXPLAINED. 

cp 

AVhy doth the buvSy little bee 
Each shining hour employ 
To gather honey that not she. 
But others, will enjoy? 

The reason certainly is plain: 
With such sweet occupation. 
No bee has taken time to gain 
A business education. 

153 



MISFITS. 



cp 



Silk tiles oft ' crown an empty pate ; 
The wise man oft ' is called a clown ; 
The sinner's praised for virtues great; 
The saint oft' craves to paint the town. 



LOVE'S CONTRARY. 

cp 

The girl who seeks all men to please 
AVill seldom find one at her knees; 

Who never says her lover nay 
AVill find her lover 's love will stray ; 

The girl who is the greatest tease 
AVill hold to many hearts the keys ; 

The wilful girl who has her way 
Is loved forever and a day. 



154 



LOVE'S THORNS. 

I soughit for love and found his lair ; 
'Twas hidden 'neath a blossom fair; 
The flower I viewed enraptured. 
" 'Tis Cupid's blossom rare," I thought. 
But when to pluck the flower I sought 
'Twas but a thorn I captured. 

And so of love I pray beware ; 

His lightest touch may bring despair; 

The dainty favors he will share 

Are quickly wilted : 

A rose at night ; a thorn at dawn ; 

A withered leaf; a fragrance gone. 

The chilly morn will break upon 

A lover jilted. 

Love's roguish eyes were looking on. 

He smiled to see what I had won ; 

He did not heed my sorrow. 

' ' The wound will heal, ' ' he laughing cried ; 

''Your tears today will all be dried; 

By some new love tomorrow." 

And so of love have not a care. 
His dainty favor may not wear; 



155 



But he '11 bestow another rare 
When it has wilted. 
Another rose will bloom at dawn ; 
The other's thorn will soon be gone. 
The lover may be glad anon 
That he was jilted. 

cp c;o cb 



BLEST FOLLY. 

]\Iany a fool has married a fool 
And both have been happy for life ; 
Bnt she's had a fool for a husband 
And he 's had a fool for a wife. 

Many a man has married a fool 
And thought it the wisest plan; 
And many a woman has married a fool 
Because she thought him a man; 



And many a man has wakened, 
And many a woman has, too. 
But to fall in love with some other fool 
And to think that that fool would do ! 



n 



[156 



FROM THE CLUB WINDOW. 

cjo 

Vain little sister of Folly ! You go 

Like a shadow of sin o'er the pavement below, 

With feathers and ribbons aflutter ; 

With a smile rouge-lip deep for each man 

that you meet — 
But an envious sigh for each maid more 

discreet 
Than yourself, and your eyes on the gutter. 

Sad little sister of Folly : your sneer, 
Your harsh sounding laughter that grates on 

the ear, 
Your sorry attempt to seem jolly, 
Though meant to conceal it, but faintly dis- 
guise 
The broken heart, empty and achnig, that lies 
Within you, weak sister of Folly. 

Poor little sister of Folly ! AYe know 
That the shadow of sin on the paving below 
Comes from back of the draperies yellow 
That conceal him, who, from the club window 

above, 
T^Iarks his cinders of lust, his ashes of love : 
Yet we call him a Royal Good Fellow ! 

157 



A PENSIONER. 

cp 

He passes down the street with footsteps 

light, 
A hero, who has won his thousandth fight. 
No wreath of laurel crowns his furrowed 

brow; 
No honor to him does the world allow. 
And yet he bears such scars upon his breast 
As in old Feudal days might won a crest. 
His battle-cry has oft' the vanguard led 
And filled the hearts of those who heard Avith 

dread. 
His courage none can question : night and day 
Both find him ready for relentless fray ; 
And yet, sans glory and sans habitat. 
He slinks along : a vagrant Thomas Cat ! 



158 



AN AQUARIUMISTIC PARABLE. 

cp 

A lobster loved a mermaid fair 

Who dwelt beneath the wave 

And combed her wealth of golden hair 

Within her coral cave; 

He sought her on her pearly throne 

His passion to aver, 

And when he found the maid alone 

He murmured this to her: 

' ' I love you so ! I love you so ! 

Ah, yes, indeed I do. 

I long to know some way to show 

My ardent love for you. 

The waves so blue may change their hue. 

The stars may cease to glow, 

But naught can change my love so true. 

Sweetheart, I love you so ! " 

He thought her won, but, entres nous. 

That heartless maid began 

A sad and painful thing to do, 

Undreamed of in his plan : 

She trimmed him; yes, I must confess, 

And as she pulled his limb. 

To fascinate that lobster great. 

She murmured this to him : 

159 



' ' I love you so ; I love you so ; 
Ah, yes, indeed I do. 
I'd love to know the place where grow 
]More lobsterettes like you. 
You're sweeter far than caviar, 
Or oysters, or shad roe ; 
A heart more sweet I '11 swear ne 'er beat- 
Sweetheart, I love you so!" 

That coral cavern, by the way, 

Was made of glass : a tank 

Wherein that mermaid pranked each day 

At quid pro quo per prank. 

That lobster was a millionaire, 

By virtue of his dad; 

And that was why that mermaid fair 

A diamond necklace had. 

' ' I love you so ! I love you so ! " 
These words we're apt to rue, 
Unless we go a little slow 
And learn a thing or two ; 
And even then, the wisest men 
But lobsters green may show, 
AVhen they repeat that sentence sweet: 
"Sweetheart, I love you so!" 



160 



NATURE'S COQUETTE. 

dp 

0, laughing sea ! 

For aye 

Your billows play, 

Care free, 
O'er sunken wrecks, where eyeless skulls 
Gaze upward at the circling gulls. 

And each chill wave 

Their sockets lave 

And kiss, in wanton glee; 

Down in your deep. 

The slime 

Of weeds that climb 

And creep 
Wraps sodden bones with murkish green; 
Slow crawling things glide through between, 

With eager eyes 

To strip each prize 

Your mocking waters reap; 

And where warm hearts once bravely beat 
Misshapen monsters find retreat! 



Dick Duffy, of Ainslee's, accepted and published the above, 
which had been returned by Edwin Sandys, of Outing, with the 
following note: 

"Oh, swollen head ! Oh. shaking hand ! 
Oh shrunken hat ! Oh, throbbing brow ! 
Slow crawling things -and all-be damned ! 
What you had then I'm dreading now ! " 

161 



A RECIPE. 

cp 

To a hundred pounds of sweetness 
Add a pound or two of cotton — 
Just enough to lend completeness 
To the curves of what she's got on — 
Saturate this well with laughter 
In a multitude of phases, 
Smiles for all who follow after, 
With a wink that quite amazes ; 
Just a dash of brainy brightness 
That may prove her somewhat knowing; 
Clothe with lingerie whose lightness 
Tempts the breezes softly blowing; 
Give a touch or two of powder, 
(Just a little on her face is 
By most anyone allowed her 
To enhance her charming graces;) 
Then a shade of pencil lightly 
Placed upon each eyebrow, gently, 
(If the thing is managed rightly 
None will guess, howe'er intently 
All may scan each glowing feature 
That's with these enchantments laden,) 
And the whole's the artful creature 
That is called a ''Summer Maiden." 



162 



IN THE WINGS. 

cp 

Said the property man 
To the plump soubrette, 
Who was smoking a propert}^ cigarette, 
''You're a pleasure to see, 
But I think you'll agree 
That your greatest attractions are owing to 
me. ' ' 

Said the plump soubrette 

To the property man, 

As she tapped his cheek with her property 

fan, 
''There isn't a doubt 
You have found me out, 
But I hope you won't whisper my secret 

about. ' ' 

Said the property man 

To the plump soubrette, 

As he toyed v/ith her property curls of jet. 

"From your head to your feet 

You are certainly sweet. 

But I am the fellow who made you complete. ' ' 



163 



Said the plump soubrette 
To the property man, 

With a glance at his bucket of property bran, 
''It unpleasantly serves 
As a trial to my nerves, 
But I'm forced to admit you are on to my 
curves." 



cpcpcp 



164 



SEMPER IDEM. 

Who is the man whom the curious scan, 

AVhen the Star tosses him a bouquet ; 

Whose fortune in ''rocks" is displayed in 
the box 

For which he has nothing to pay ; 

Who conceitedly smiles at the villain's deep 
wiles, 

As he seeks the soubrette to betray — 

Till the play's hero bold knocks the dark vil- 
lain cold? 

'Tis the playwright, who's having his day. 

And who is the man in the gallery's span. 

Who chokes, but has nothing to say; 

Who hasn't a laugh for the ^^'ittiest chaff. 

But who brushes the hot tears away 

When his neighbors applaud, and the play- 
wright laud 

As an author who 's certain to stay ; 

And who call him a peach, as they shout for 
a speech? 

Forsodth, 'tis the man wrote the play ! 



165 



FROM APARTMENT 39. 

dp 

Are you fond of classical music? 

Do you long for a rag-time waltz? 

Does your soul expand with a feeling grand 

When a high soprano vaults? 

Do the notes of a French horn thrill you? 

Is a clarionet a delight? 

To enjoy its sound, would you rise with a 

bound 
From your downy couch at night? 
Does the famous sextette from "Lucia," 
AVith Caruso hogging the score, 
Arouse your joy? Then come, my boy, 
And rent an apartment next door, 
Where all of these things will refresh you, 
And your over-worked, weary brain 
May find delight any hour of the night 
In trying to choose a refrain. 
There are French-horns and pianolas, 
Victrolas and clarionets. 
Poll parrots and cats, and in some of these 

flats 
]\Iust be other obstreperous ''pets," 



166 



For they yowl from night till morning ; 
And they howl from morning till night; 
Not a moment you'll find without some kind 
Of exuberant noises to fight. 
So if you are sad and lonely 
For lack of a neighbor or two 
Just move to a fiat next door to me. That 
May alter your point of view ! 



cpcpcp 



167 



WHEN SWEARING OFF. 

I know why Robert, ''The Well-Beloved/' 

Clung to his cigarette; 

I know the fight with a congh that's tight, 

And I know what it is to wake at night 

In that cough 's cold, clammy sweat ; 

I know what he knew : that the Nicotine Way 

Helps, when one wants to forget 

The troubles of life and its feverish strife ; 

Poor Bob didn't care to share those with his 

wife. 
So he clung to his cigarette. 

But if Bob's lot had only been like to minCs 

To be left alone in the hills 

To tackle his fight with tobacco, it might 

Be i^ossible he would be living tonight 

And free from that one of his ills. 

And I wonder, while watching the black 

silhouette 
Of the pines 'gainst the darkening sky: 
Has Stevenson's ghost pre-empted a post 
By my shoulder tonight, when I need help 

most. 
To whisper: ''Stick to it— or die?" 



168 



THE HEAVIEST STRAW. 

cp 

A man may surrender the fortune he hath 

To preserve his name and his honor; 

He may lose every penny, yet master his 

wrath 
Growing fatter each day, and not wanner ; 
He may give up his sweetheart or mistress. 

or wife, 
And his grieving may turn into joking; 
But there's one thing he'll cling to as long 

as there's life: 
He never will give up his smoking. 

For the weed 
Is indeed 

The one thing here below 
That we never succeed 
In resigning; 
We can joke 
At the stroke 

When fate deals us a blow. 
But we choke 
If a smoke 

We're declining! 



169 




YOU WONDER WHY? 

cp 

Why do I cling to my cigarette? 
Because it encourages me to forget 
The cares of life ; their latent harm 
Is soothed to sleep by its subtle charm. 

AvS I breathe its fragrance cool, I feel 
That only the joys of life are real. 
And I revel in visions warm that rise 
In the smoke of the cigarette I prize. 

There fancy dwells, and a maiden fair. 
An impossible maiden called ''Voir Eclaire, 
Whose wonderful eyes see naught in me 
But the man I have always longed to be. 

She shuts her eyes to my sad mistakes, 
And her fairy wand my hope awakes 
And I dream of being that mortal yet — 
Which is why I cling to my cigarette ! 



17.0 



LADDIE'S SECRET. 

op 

They needn't *tell me each twinklmg star 
That shines in heaven so bright 
Is a world like ours — I know what they are: 
Each one is a bicycle-light, 

And the little angels are coasting down 
The wonderful milky way 
To carry back to the Heavenly Throne 
The prayers we children pray. 

But I fear the angel who carries mine 
Has maybe punctured a tire 
On one of the comets along the line ; 
For I 've prayed with but one desire ; 

And I have repeated my prayer each night — 
I've had to whisper it though, 
'Cause Mamma listens with all her might, 
And I don't want her to know. 

I don't want her to know, you see, 
'Cause I think when the angels do 
Bring a wee little sister from Heaven to me. 
She'll be surprised. Don't you? 



171 



THE MYSTERIOUS GUESTS. 

cp 

I had three friends. I asked one day 
That they should dine with me ; 
But when they came I found that they 
Were six instead of three. 

My good wife whispered, '^We, at best. 
But five can hope to dine; 
Send one away." I did. The rest 
Remaining numbered nine. 

*'I too will go," a second cried. 
He left at once, and then. 
Although to count but eight I tried, 
I found remaining ten. 

*'Go call them back," my wife implored 
"I fear the third may go 
And leave behind, to share our board, 
A hungry score or so ! " 

The second one then straight returned. 
As might have been expected. 
He, with the ten, we quickly learned. 
Eleven made. Dejected, 



172 



We saw the first returning. He, 
With all the rest, turned around, 
And there, behold, were my friends three, 
Though six they still were found! 



cp 



(For those of you who yet may find 
:\Iy riddle too complex, 
I'll say: the friends I had in mind 
Were '^'S" and '^I" and ''X".) 



171 



I. 

IN OUR STREET. 

dp 

Just a little soldier, 
Cap and sword and gun, 
Fighting just like father — 
My, what lots of fun! 

Herman, (child of neighbor,) 
Leads the German band. 
Billy, with his weapons. 
Brings them to a stand ; 

Captures Herman's army — 

(Herman is alone. 

But imagination 

Has an army shown;) 

Throws them into prison, 
Holds them for reward. 
Herman pays a ransom 
At the point of sword. 

Ransom is an orange: 
(They're dividing it; 
Winning armies should be 
Generous a bit ! ) 

174 



Billy, from his combats, 
Is so nearly dead, 
Comes and whispers mother, 
'^Time to go to bed?" 

cpcpcp 

II. 

IN OUR HOSPITAL. 

cp 

I was awfully busy today. 

It's hard work being a nurse 

And bandage up wounded soldiers' heads; 

I don't know anything worse. 

The way those wounded boys act 
Is certainly a disgrace. 
Why, Billy looked really mad at first 
When I wanted to wash his face! 

And Brother Herman said, ''Dot, 
Don't try to do that to me!" 
And for a minute I guess he thought 
That Billy would never agree. 

But Billy's a regular brick. 
When Herman — mean thing — said that. 
Billy said gaily, ''Herman, you're wrong; 
Remember where we are at! 

175 



"Soldiers are always polite 
To nurses — and little girls, — 
'Specially when they play with us men. 
Don 't let 's seem to be churls ! ' ' 

And he let me wash his face, 

Just as nice as nice could be; 

And I might have kissed him if I'd had time, 

But I hadn 't — cause he kissed me ! 



cpcpcp 

III. 

AT HOME. 

cp 

]\l3^ Billy with Herman is playing "war," 
And Dot, Herman's sister, plays nurse; 
And I sit alone by my open door. 
Compelled to hear them rehearse. 

I am one of those who are left behind — 
For their fathers are volunteers; 
And I search and search the papers to find 
If either one's name appears. 



176 



I 




To look for the ''Dead and AVoimded" list 

Is a terrible thing to me. 

Should the name be there — could I have 

missed 1 
And so — well I — Can't you see! 

Can't you other folks understand 

AYhat it is I am fearful for? 

To think there are people who call it 

' ' grand ' ' — 
This terrible monster. War ! 

Our volunteers think they may honor gain — 
Or a pension, as like as not ; 
But what of their women, if the}^ be slain — 
Of Billy— of Herman and Dot? 

What would be left for them or for me, 
In all of this lonely land? 
Think of it, people; can't you see? 
Is it so vou can understand? 



177 



Arctic Voices. 

cp 

Among Arctic voyagers I am not aware 
that anyone has seriously attempted a collec- 
tion of Eskimo Folklore ; though, if authenti- 
cally obtained, it might be of exceptional in- 
terest. One reason may lie in the difficulty 
of persuading an Eskimo to discuss the sub- 
ject. It was only after acquiring something 
of his difficult tongue, and after years spent 
intimately with the Eskimos of Nachvack and 
Siglick, that I was able to induce three of 
the most intelligent of my Eskimo friends to 
tell me something of their pre-OhrivStian ex- 
istences, their conjurors, and their tribal folk- 
lore. 

The Eskimo is more fluent than most prim- 
itive people and poetic in his method of ex- 
pression. In the following prose poems I 
have closely followed a literal translation of 
what was told to me by Nusoyoaluk and 
Hinuk-Koliliguk, two men who, before' their 
conversion, had been tribal conjurors, and by 
Obolariak, one of the cleverest carvers of wal- 
rus ivory the North has ever produced. 

R. G. T. 

178 



ARCTIC VOICES. 



dp 



I 



Nusowyualuk Discourses. 

It is believed by our people. 
We of the Arctic Northland, 
Innuits, whom you call "heathen." 
That there is something after death — 
Life, that lives after the body. 
When we are dead where goes that life? 
If it is good, it helps its friends : 
Helps to drive out the reindeer ; 
Helps to bring in the walrus ; 
If it be bad, then you must look out- 
It may serve you ill-turns in hunting. 

We do not sacrifice to our dead. 

We bury their weapons with them. 

And meat, and drink, and other things. 

That the dead may enjoy the spirit of these 

Upon their longer journey. 

For everything has an unseen life — 

We cannot see, but we feel it. 

The conjurors say they can sometimes talk 

With lives that have gone before us. 

But this I have always doubted. 



179 



We cannot see these spirits of things, 
But it is thought that dogs can 
And that they fear the spirits. 
We ourselves do not fear them; 
For if they seek to do us harm, 
If they bring the famine down on us 
So that for us life is ended, 
We, perhaps, may be happier so : 
No more cold ; no more hunger. 

We like not the white men to rob the graves. 

If the stone lamp be taken, 

The life of the lamp goes out for the dead 

And the dead is left in darkness — 

Robbed of the life of the light and the fire — 

And the dead are our ancestors. 

You say that we, ourselves, rob the graves'? 

Not so ; for we pay. It is barter : 

If a stone dish be taken, we leave a knife ; 

And our dead ones then are contented. 

To rob, with us, is as bad as to kill. 

An Eskimo will do neither. 



180 



' Koliliguk Contributes. 

I am Hinuk-Koliliguk, "Conjuror of Cape- 

lin;" 
That ivas my name. I am Christian now, 
And my Christian name is Enoch. 
I know that all conjurors fool themselves. 
And so they fool the people ; 
That the tales they tell are silly tales. 
The missionaries have said it. 
It is that some have wonderful dreams ; 
They believe them, and tell the people. 
It is also that when the people are ill 
And the conjurors think they can make them 

well. 
They almost always do so — 
So the people believe in the conjurors ; 
And the conjurors believe in themselves. 
And it is true they have knowledge : 
They know what is good for the body 
And know what is evil for it. 
My father was a conjuror, 
And my father's father before him; 
And both of them were honest men. 
I would have known no better. 
Had I not learned at the Mission. 
But you have asked me to tell the old tales: 
I will tell some of them truly. 
For the friendship of you, who ask it. 

181 




It is told that a long, long time ago, 
A strange tribe came in the summer 
To make war on our people, 
And drove them from our fishing-ground, 
AVhich was on the Bay of Siglick. 
To the North, the land is very high 
And on the high land is a mountain. 
It is more than a long day's journey 
To climb from the sea to the mountain top. 
To this mountain our people fled, 
Guided by their conjuror. 
They found very little there to eat 
And soon were near to starving. 
So they came to their conjuror and com- 
plained ; 
And he went into his topek. 
And after a time came out to them 
And promised them food on the morrow. 

On the morrow, he led them forth 

And further up the mountain ; 

And when they had come to a bed of snow, 

This he said to the people: 

' ' Dig in this snow and you will find food ; 

Good food is there in plenty." 

The people did as he bade them; 
And in the snow they found a whale, 

182 



The flesh of it hard frozen. 

They ate the skin, and then the meat, 

And did not lack again for food 

Until the winter found them, 

Driving the strange men from the shore. 

So that they might return there. 

It was believed that the frozen whale 

Came at my ancestor 's bidding ; 

That he had conjured it from the sea. 

And all of them paid tribute. 

And it is true the whale was there : 

I, myself, have seen its bones 

High up on the mountain ; 

But I do not believe as they believed — 

I no longer believe in conjuring; 

And I have, too, another reason : 

It is said two conjurors tried their strength. 
And that the one of them boasted : 
' ' I can turn the dry land into sea. ' ' 
And the other conjuror answered, 
"Then I would make it dry land again." 

And the first got into his kayak 
And went out over the water, 
Chanting loud with every stroke 
Till the people no longer heard him. 

183 




And the sea rolled in, and the people ran, 

The other conjuror with them. 

They had not believed it could be done 

And were near to paying for it. 

As the conjuror led the way for them 

He conjured harder and harder, 

And soon the waters ceased to rise, 

And finally receded. 

Then both the conjurors agreed 

With all the angry people 

That they would not repeat such things. 

And so they were forgiven. 

And it is true the sea once was 

Where now is land. I can show you 

Where you may find marks of the sea 

Upon our highest mountain. 

Can show you there both shells and bones — 

Bones of whales and fishes. 

Of a truth, the land is growing; 

The sea does not rise to where it did 

In the days when I was younger ; * 

And the marks of the sea are everywhere 

From the shore to the top of the mountain. 

And that is my other reason : 

For if the sea once covered the land. 

It might have lodged a whale there 

High up, where my people found it ; 

184 



And the cold and snow might keep it sweet 
To the time they came and ate it — 
But how the conjuror knew of it 
No Missionary has answered! 

cpcpcp 

Oboloriak Concludes with the Birth of the 
Moon. 

A very, very long time ago, 

There lived a very old woman, 

Very ugly, very bad tempered. 

So that the people wished her to die. 

But she would not die. As time Avent on. 

She seemed to grow no older. 

So the people called the conjuror 

And begged that he would find a way 

To rid them of their burden. 

The conjuror then conjured hard, 

But only learned the woman 

Possessed a charm he could not beat. 

The charm lay in her ooloo — 

Her stone knife used for cleaning, — 

iMade of some strange, shining stone. 

Like which there was no other. 

So then he called his brothers in 

And conjurors of other tribes 

That lived beyond the water. 

And all the conjurors soon came 

185 




And conjured hard together. 

And she was busy with a skin, 

And when they conjured harder 

She fiew away up in the sky, 

And carried her ooloo with her. 

You cannot see the old woman there. 

But you can see her ooloo, 

Which is that thing you call ''the moon; 

And when you cannot see it 

That shows that she is hunting 

And has her ooloo with her; 

And when it comes again to view 

It shows that she is home again 

And busy cleaning seal-skins. 

ciocbcio 



THE RAINBOW'S END. 

A Memorial to Unpublished Manuscripts 
Banished to the Attic. 

^ : 

Unwelcome wanderers upon the face of the 

earth ; 
What words of pity, or unseemly mirth, 
Have greeted thee upon thy weary round. 
Ere this, thy final resting-place, was found ! 



186 



'er-burthened with an unknown poet 's name 
Didst thou start forth upon thy quest for 

fame, 
Too fondly trusted mortal hearts to fire 
And crown with immortality thy sire. 

Alas! Thy dream to deck a column's head 
And by the world admiring to be read 
Had no presentiment of that dire ill, 
The Editor, of arbitrary will; 

The Editor, wise harbinger of fate, 

AYho, armed with power despotic, guards the 
gate 

To fame ; greets members old with smiling 
lips, 

But slays new applicants with printed slips ! 

AVith countless scores of those cold legends, 
thou, 

'* Returned with thanks," may hide thy sul- 
lied brow. 

And pigeon-holed beneath them in the gloom, 

Remain till time shall bring him to the tomb ; 

Then may some loved one, loving still thy 

lord. 
Gain for him better, if less rich, reward. 
By resurrecting thee, his fancy's flame, 
With thee to flick one cobweb from his name. 

187 



DIG DOWN! 

. cp 

I have lived, I have loved, I have labored ; 

I have garnered both sorrow and bliss ; 

But there is not a page. 

From my youth to my age, 

That I now would be willing to miss. 

I have vaulted as high as the heavens, 

I have plunged to the deepest of hells ; 

I have sounded them all. 

From each center to wall. 

To discover where happiness dw^ells. 

They were sisters three. Pain. Grief, and 

Sorrow, 
Who embraced me and pointed the way. 
Till these Harpies are paid. 
Not a man nor a maid 
Can distinguish life's night from its day. 

We are blind to the greatest of blessings, 

Till misfortune the knowledge imparts 

That true happiness dwells, 

Not in heaven, nor hells : 

It is hidden deep down in our hearts. 



188 



LIFE'S TREASURES. 

cp 

"Old friends are best." 

I love the life that's free — 

To wander, at my will, o 'er land or sea, 

New scenes to view, 

New hands to shake. 

Each journey new 

New friends to make ; 

Yet when at last my heart of heart I test, 

T find it always whispering to me : 

"Old friends are best." 

Old friends are best. 

Though new ones may appear 

To fill the days with merriment and cheer. 

To banish care, 

To yield a store 

Of pleasures rare 

Unknown before, 

Yet when each night I lay me down to rest 

And count God's blesvsings that I hold most 

dear, 
Old friends are best ! 



189 



POST SCRIPTUM. 

To O. O. W., F. A. M., and W. N. S. I. 
["Three Men in a Boat !"] 

cp 

In remembrance of the evil time 

When Hell had broken out 

And the little devils, had me by the throat, 

And you made those little devils climb 

And put them all to rout 

And prevented them from capturing my goat ; 

And one of you supplied an antidote; 
And one of you insured the leaky boat ; 
And one of j^ou the wreckage kept afloat, 
And calked it with his winter-overcoat! 

''R. G. T." 




190 



To TKose Who Care. 

cp 

''R. G. T." is a member of the stafi of 
the Great Northern Railway Company's Legal 
Department. He has had an adventurous life, 
due, perhaps, to his early training as a rail- 
way telegrapher. The temptation to see the 
world engendered by that occupation he 
graphically describes in ''Chained Light- 
ning," a railroad story of thrilling adventures 
in ^lexico, just published in book form by 
the ]\Iacmillan Company, New York. 

Though a native of Minnesota, ]\Ir. Taber 
has travelled extensively in Southern Europe. 
Northern Africa, Labrador and the LTngava 
country, the Rockies, Mexico, Central and 
South America; and in his rambles has en- 
joyed a varied experience as telegrapher and 
dispatcher, ( pitching ' ' Chained Lightning, ' ' ) 
and as journalist, editor, theatrical manager, 
explorer, prospector, miner, and attorney at 
law. 

If you have enjoyed reading ''Stray 
Gold, ' ' order one of the flexible leather-bound 
copies of the book, as a present for some 



191 




friend. If you wish a copy of "Chained 
Lightning" also, remit to us the price, $1.25, 
and it will be mailed to you. 

St. Paul Book & Stationery Co., 

St. Paul, Minn. 




^.^ 







